


the art of solving for variables

by astrosaur



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: M/M, alludes to controversies about Mr. Kitagawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrosaur/pseuds/astrosaur
Summary: The death of Johnny Kitagawa triggers a series of events that bring the agency to the brink of collapse, casting their futures into uncertainty. For Sexy Zone - and Kento and Fuma, specifically - the threats on their status quo are acutely imposing.





	1. Luv Manifesto

どんなに離れないトラウマも  
消えない幻想に怯えてても  
意味は無いから生きてけ今を  
光目指し築く新世界を

 

 

 

            There’s plenty competing for the jurisdiction of their headspace, including the loss of life and the deconstruction of invincibility. Racing ahead of the contest is this surreal coexistence of solemnity and pageantry. This is their backdrop. A crowd in starched cloths, sitting through a somber ceremony while paparazzi climb over one another to steal a front-page-worthy shot.

            Shori squirms in his seat, unsettled by the horde of voyeuristic lenses. “I can’t believe they’re still here.”

            “I want to know who gave them the right,” Marius says into Kento’s shoulder, where his face has taken residency in the past few weeks. “Making money from the kinds of headlines they’re writing.”

            “‘Morally Bankrupt Idols Mourn Accused—’” Fuma starts to compose one of his own before Kento interrupts him.

            “It’s not the time for that.”

            The five of them crowd each other’s spaces through the day, in spite of individual desires to be coddled by their older colleagues or to commiserate with their closest friends. Whether seated or walking, they huddle together like a single creature in possession of twenty mismatched limbs.

            The five of them are small drops in an ocean of stormy and glassy eyes. Guests in attendance included Juniors months-old into employment, and former members of SMAP, each one gathering amidst a rising tide of external hostility.

            Most likely, they all received the same correspondence, or at least a message in the same spirit. Something akin to the ostensibly gentle decree that’s laying on Kento and Fuma’s kitchen counter. The letter, printed on parchment, harkened back to Johnny Kitagawa’s personal contributions to many success stories. It extoled his virtues as it called for corresponding loyalty. The letter all but demanded its recipient to dismiss the slights thrown by profiteers thirsting to dismantle the industry behemoth.

            It’s clear that no one is exempt from hauntings of second thoughts, even as they offer their condolences. King & Prince looks especially troubled. They’re meant to represent strength, unfair as the designation may be. Be the beacon of hope for the future. Yet they’re the least prepared to grapple the faceless terrors lurking along their path, guided by little more than expedited maturity.

            Not that they’re in much better position. As a testament to this, a sob dribbles out of Marius, one that wracks his body with conflicted misery. While Shori is unable to look at him, he puts a hand over his clasped ones, where their youngest wrung his fingers tight enough to snap. On the other end, Fuma angles his body and expands his chest as wide as it can go, his back morphing into a shield from photographers. Kento catches Fuma’s eye over the cloud of Marius’s hair, a mutual lifeline.

            Marius’s tears prove both resilient and contagious. Soon, Fuma and Shori’s eyes haze like ink blots, and Sou’s coherency dissipates like a dried-out sandcastle. The first chance he gets, Fuma steals them away to a shadowed corner of the expansive property.

            Sou and Marius take advantage of their privacy, wrapping around each other and pulling in the older members to join them. They grip at each other’s arms, locking into a manmade protective bubble.

            After some time, Sou stumbles back from their fortified circle, leaning away to thoroughly wipe his face. The rest take it as their cue to break apart and individually gather their bearings.

            Fuma glances around at the despondent faces surrounding him. “Well, you’re all banned from coming to my funeral.”

            Shori laughs, watery and stilted. “I think you’d be doing us a favor,” he jokes weakly.

            “Hey, Kento-kun, you know what I just thought?” Marius’s tone lightens oddly. “If you’re dead-set on not having a last day, then you’d have to attend each one of our funerals.”

            Kento notes a pair of feet puttering around towards the end of the hall. “Actually, we should probably postpone funeral-related conversations altogether.” Not one to enjoy talk of endings, he adds, “Yeah, let’s postpone it to sometime in the next century.”

            Shori glances back to observe the contained commotion. “Looks like Mary-san’s speech is about to start.”

            Marius doesn’t conceal his displeasure at the thought of returning. “Will they really notice if we’re missing?”

            “You’re the most conspicuous one of all.” To emphasize his point, Fuma grabs the top of Marius’s head and drags it closer to the ground, knocking the latter off-balance. Shori takes his lead and throws a corresponding arm around Sou, leaving Kento to occupy his other side. In this fashion – arm-in-arm, side-by-side – they march back out to face the crowd.

 

 

***

 

 

            Fuma, Sou and Marius find themselves representing the band at a debrief meeting, with Shori and Kento engaged in drama filming and variety obligations, respectively. They share their assigned time with Hey! Say! JUMP and groups that debuted after them.

            Of late, there have been a number of meetings conducted as avenues for Johnny’s employees to air grievances and pose questions. The agenda this time focused on various on-camera activities that they’re expected to participate in, and the ones they’re advised to cancel. There’s no pretense as to whether these directives are optional. Borderline tyranny is nothing new for anyone in the room, but the mood and the phrasing becomes imposing enough to inspire subsequent chatter of acquiring independent legal representation.

            “Too bad we’re being told to minimize our appearances, ‘cause that’ll make it harder afford those lawyers,” Hikaru says. He squints an eye, a parody of suspicion. “Unless that was their plan all along.”

            “Not to mention, it would be a pain finding a lawyer in addition to a new manager,” Yabu says.

            “What happened to your manager?” Sou asks.

            “She left a month or so ago,” Yabu fills him in. “Pretty much as the bad publicity came to a head.”

            “It’s not that she couldn’t handle bad publicity,” Inoo adds in her defense. “Facing the backlash on top of doing her regular job…”

            “It’s understandable why she left,” Arioka finishes for him.

            “She’d been with us less than a year before the shit hit the fan,” Hikaru notes.

            Inoo’s pupils ricochet east and west, until he seemingly decides to call attention to the hulking elephant in the room. “The thing is, aren’t we in the same boat? Putting tenure aside?”

            Fuma shifts self-consciously. It’s hard enough saving these thoughts for solitary moments without others prompting them from him.

            “What, we’re all on the Titanic and it’s time to jump ship since we’re headed towards the iceberg?” Yabu says, oblivious to Fuma’s discomfort.

            “We’ve already hit the iceberg, in case you haven’t noticed,” Hikaru snorts before nudging Yabu’s side. “We’ve been in the midst of sinking, my friend.” Takaki appends this with random “blub, blub” noises that the rest of them ignore.

            “Anyway, that’s not what I meant,” Inoo says. “I meant, like, the principle of it.” He’s met with utter silence. “Seriously? No one?”

            “Honestly?” Hikaru says eventually. “My guess is no one will be able to stop thinking about it anytime soon.”

            Fuma gapes, awed by the admission.

            “We’d have to be idiots not to.” Inoo turns to Fuma, Marius, and Sou. “And for you guys, it must be even worse, right? If those whispers made their way to you about Kento or Shori always being spotted getting out of Johnny-san’s car back in the day.” As soon as Inoo finishes his sentence, Yabu and Hikaru simultaneously whip towards Fuma, whose shock has taken on a whole new dimension.

            “Um, okay, what is wrong with you,” Arioka asks Inoo casually. “Why are you bringing that up?”

            Fuma turns to Sou and Marius who are similarly at a loss for words, before he returns his glance to Inoo and the rest of BEST. “…Oh.”

            “Fuma, I would’ve thought that would bother you, most of all.” Inoo’s concerned expression is both blatant and genuine – it’s clear that he means well, despite the overabundance of curiosity. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t hoping that you’d storm out of here with a hitlist or whatever. But I can’t imagine you standing by while rumors circulate about Kento – and Shori – sucking up to our disgraced president.”

            “Don’t be vulgar,” Takaki interjects.

            “Sucked _up_. Oh my god, I said sucked _up_.” Inoo huffs, affronted. “Excuse me, you need to stop projecting your perversions on me.”

            “If it were up to me, I’d rather the subject was dropped for good,” Fuma answers evenly.

            “I want to know who’s saying something so vile,” Marius says, one side of his mouth curling sourly. Next to him, Sou nods, jaw set and looking even more militant.

            “When we find out who’s behind it, that’s the time we do something about it. In the meantime, there’s no point in breathing life into mindless gossip.” Remembering his position, Fuma tilts his head downwards in Inoo’s direction. “Not that I’m trying to call you out, Inoo-kun. I meant guys who aren’t coming from a place of concern.”

            Sou and Marius look between Fuma and Inoo warily, which may be unwarranted given Inoo’s mostly bemused expression.

            Hikaru shakes his head. “Sorry, guys. We’ll take this one so he can be tactless somewhere else.” He grabs Inoo’s wrist and tugs, pulling both him and Arioka forward. “Let’s go, my little shit-stirrers. Time for us to earn that lawyer money.”

 

 

***

 

 

            This year was building up to be their year. For a brief moment, the stars aligned, and all signs pointed to an imminent breakthrough with brilliance fit to humiliate prior milestones.

            Such epic high hopes were fated to tumble back down to earth.

            The death of Johnny Kitagawa stimulated discourse about his life’s work and its impact on national culture. Business as usual. What the agency hadn’t anticipated was for media coverage to balance his accolades with reports about questionable practices. The floodgates opened. Suddenly, the agency was at the mercy of the media’s collective muscle like never before, buoyed by the multiplying reach of non-traditional channels. For the first time in its existence, Johnny & Associates was unable to suppress a mainstream sentiment denouncing them as a company nosediving into extinction.

            This year was supposed to be Kento’s year, too. 10-year anniversary, Year of the Dog and so on.

            Somehow, he started it off spoiled with opportunities at his feet. Not even halfway through, he’s scrambling to retain previous obligations as his battered company makes heads or tails of how to survive today’s clamor for accountability.

            When Kento gets home, he’s depleted, hollowed out in a way that almost resembles relief. Fuma’s already there waiting for him and, unsurprisingly, is quick to diagnose his condition. Without saying a word, Fuma gets up and sets the table, a chore that he normally couldn’t be paid to do.

            The sight of his partner voluntarily pitching in without pomp or complaint injects Kento with a jolt of reserve energy. He finds it in himself to join Fuma in the kitchen, to function like a regular human being. “Which of the leftovers should I reheat?”

            “Ah, I already ate. It’s way past dinnertime,” Fuma says. A mild form of protest with regards to Kento’s extended work hours, knowing Kento’s far too tired to take the bait. “You should finish the chicken stew, though. It’s about to go bad.”

            Kento’s brain, elated to finally receive straightforward instructions, translates Fuma’s words into action straightaway. Mostly out of reflex, he asks how Fuma’s meeting went as he settles across from him.

            “Kind of a mess,” Fuma admits. “So, nothing new there. But I suggest getting some sleep before you pick up the new contract.”

            “Not bedtime reading material?” Kento translates.

            “You may want to be well-rested before diving into it.” Changing the subject, Fuma continues, “The guys from BEST were there. We got to talk to them for a bit.”

            “Yeah?”

            Fuma hesitates. “They haven’t found a replacement for one of their managers. They said she left a while back. She had misgivings about… the misdeeds that came to light.”

            Kento makes a low, thoughtful sound as he slowly chews his food.

            “That’s the exact face everyone made when the topic came up,” Fuma says.

            Kento doesn’t know what to do with that information. “What did yours look like?”

            Fuma pulls a ridiculous expression out of nowhere, crossing his eyes and baring his upper teeth, making Kento snort and chuckle. When they sober, however, the air around them seems to change. “The way the guys talk about it, it’s as if quitting isn’t in the cards at all,” Fuma muses. “Like it’s not a viable option.”

            “Well, it is pretty unrealistic.”

            “I wouldn’t say that,” Fuma disagrees. “It’s not unheard of to go and find new representation. Others made a move long before the shitstorm started.”

            “I guess.” Kento lays the dismissiveness on thick, but Fuma breezes past it.

            “And the reasons we’d have – theoretically – to move on at this point would be better than any reason our former seniors ever had.”

            Alas, Fuma won’t drop the subject that Kento isn’t up to discussing even in the best of moods. The mere thought of getting into it in his current state sounds excruciating.

            Kento is so. Damn. Tired. Reframing his worldview alone had been enough to run him ragged.

            Waking up one day to do a 180-degree pivot, to denounce the man who only ever championed them at the drop of a hat… The psychological revamp felt like physical chunks of his soul were being siphoned off him.

            It took conscious effort to tamp down recollections begging for reconsideration. There’s a lasting image of a man who spontaneously took his family out for lunch after he’d just joined the agency, and it had to be reconciled with the image of a flagrant criminal capable of doing what he was accused of.

            And now, it’s come to this. Fuma joining the throngs of critics waiting on him to turn his back on the company. The company that believed in him, who found his shoulders sturdy enough to carry the greenest group in the history of the company’s storied legacy.

            Kento’s chest starts to ache from the pressure of caving in. “Why do we have to make it about us.”

            Fuma takes a deep breath. Then, “Do you mean to say that since you and I got out untouched, it doesn’t matter if he hurt other people?”

            “‘If,’ Kikuchi, ‘if!’” Kento catches himself backtracking on a truth he fought to accept and shakes his head at his innate willfulness. “I’m not saying we brush anything under the rug. I’m questioning if we have to act as judge and jury.”

            Fuma’s response is an unequivocal _yes, we do_. “We have to be on the right side of things. No matter how well we think we know the accused, or what we owe to them. I know you know this, Nakajima, don’t go feigning ignorance.”

            “Don’t call me ignorant,” Kento snaps, taking Fuma aback with the heat of his reaction. “Just because it’s taken me longer than you to replace my memories with secondhand accounts. Just because I won’t have those dictate the rest of my life.”

            “First, no one’s asking you to disregard your experiences—”

            “Except the first thing I’m asked to do when I get home is to defend my stance over those horrible allegations. God knows I have to answer for those – and Yamaguchi-kun’s, too, while we’re at it!” Kento gets up abruptly, plate in hand. He hovers over the bin and dumps the contents of his plate over it.

            Fuma watches Kento empty his plate in the least satisfying way possible. “…Did it taste off?”

            “I’m not that hungry, after all.” Kento starts to rinse his dinnerware with more aggression than household chores call for.

            Niggling at the final thread of Kento’s patience, Fuma sighs darkly. “Fine. Let’s call it night.” After a tense moment, he relents. “I shouldn’t have yelled when you’re as tired as you are.” Another pause wedges between them. Then, “I can take the couch since you’re probably still recovering from your cold.”

            Kento’s sponge freezes mid-swipe, abruptly putting an end to his rabid cleaning. He barely hears Fuma’s low “good night, Nakajima.”

 

 

***

 

 

            Kento wakes up with his bangs sticking to his forehead. He moves to kick the blanket off him, and is reasonably shocked when it yelps in response. His sleep-slowed brain takes a few minutes to register that it wasn’t his blanket protesting the act of violence. The voice belongs to an owner of legs that are entangled with his, an extra pair that hadn’t been around the night before.

            He peers down at the head that’s nuzzled into his shoulder for a moment before reaching out to tousle the dark hair and smoothing it back, granting himself a better view of Fuma’s sleeping face.

            He gets a few affectionate caresses in before the need for response overpowers him. Tender petting soon gives way to insistent facial pokes. When all he gets in return is a twitch and a nose scrunch, Kento has no choice but to pinch Fuma’s nose and suspend his breath for a second or two.

            Kento is wondering if it’d be this easy for someone to assassinate Fuma in his sleep when the latter sputters and shakes him off with brute – if muddled – force.

            “The hell!”

            Kento’s offending hand has already retreated back to his side. He second-guesses his next move as Fuma regains capacity for conscious response. “I’m sticky all over. I need a bath.” His head cocks to the side, eyes softened and widened, on display for Fuma’s benefit. “How about you? Do you need one?”

            Fuma keeps him in suspense for a heartbeat. “I will if we stay here a little longer.”

            Encouraged by the unsubtle innuendo, Kento leans on barely-awake bravery to convince Fuma to follow him. “There’s no need to push it off for later, right? I’ll make it worth your time.”

            Fuma snorts in spite of the pink tinge rushing to line the shell of his ears. “It’s not enough for you that I risked overnight exposure to you and your compromised immune system.” Gently, he kicks Kento’s hip with a chilled foot, a nudge to get him going. Kento crawls out of bed and Fuma gets up after him, accompanying his movements with disgruntled noises for (mostly) dramatic effect.

            After freshening up and sneaking in a perfunctory rinse, they make their way to the tub, instantly falling into coordinating instincts absorbed and honed over ten years. Kento fetches the Himalayan bath salts Marius recommended, while Fuma adjusts the knobs to get the water temperature they’d negotiated between them.

            Fuma clears his throat as he completes his task. “This is new. Soaking first thing in the morning.”

            “I don’t know what time I’m getting back tonight.” Kento’s voice is purposefully light as they watch the crystals dissolve in the water. “What time did you move to the bedroom?”

            Fuma shrugs, shoulder brushing Kento’s arm as he does. “You were already asleep, so it must have been past midnight.”

            Kento acknowledges him with a short hum and then decides that their bath is ready. He grabs the juncture between Fuma’s neck and shoulder to steady himself as he steps into the bath, and Fuma grabs his free hand protectively, keeping him as balanced as possible.

            “It was boring sleeping in the living room,” Fuma adds as he joins the older man. He slips on the porcelain surface even though he has Kento’s arm around his waist, and he lands with a distinct lack of grace right into Kento’s side. “Wah!”

            Kento swiftly gives in to the urge turn fully into his partner. He tucks and threads himself into every available space –  under Fuma’s chin, over and around his ribcage, the scope defined by his outstretched legs. “Gravity’s teaching you a lesson. I need you around,” he whispers against Fuma’s collarbone. “Now more than ever.”

            Kento must be presenting as truly pathetic, because Fuma doesn’t hesitate to return his smothering embrace. “You didn’t think I was mad at you last night, did you?”

            Kento listens to the coltish pulse galloping underneath Fuma’s skin, relishes the other man’s lips moving his fringe and delicately pressing into his temple. “Everything’s crashing down on us and it’s like we’ve only got each other left. If that’s taken away, what do we have left?”

            “Huh? That’s the one thing we’ve never to worry about. You should understand that by now, Nakajima.” The hold tightens further like Fuma’s trying to fuse them together. “This is it. We’re stuck with each other.”

            “Please don’t jinx it.” Kento sighs and sinks into the water, but only gets as far as Fuma’s willing to let him go. “We’ve spent enough time going downhill these past few weeks. It’s time the tides change.”

            “Yeah, ‘cause we’re changing them ourselves.” Fuma scoops up some water into his palm and lets it trickle onto Kento’s hair. “Can I spoil a surprise? There’s no filming tomorrow. The five of us are going to Disneyland.”

            “What?” Kento sits up, spine lengthening toward the ceiling. “Seriously?! How do you know that?”

            Fuma chuckles as he evades Kento’s probing gaze. “Far be it for me to say that I’m the one the staff trusts the most.”

            Kento detects the embarrassment underpinning Fuma’s gloating. “You. You’re behind this? Did you plan a trip for the group?”

            “Wrong thing to focus on.” Still resisting eye contact, Fuma sits up to verge on Kento’s vicinity. “The point is, it’s about time that the five of us went together. Now that everyone’s old enough to look after themselves.”

            “What an awesome idea,” Kento gushes. “It’d be nice to take our minds off the last couple of weeks.”

            Fuma keeps his gaze straight ahead while Kento returns to burrow his chin onto Fuma’s shoulder. “On the other hand, we don’t actually talk about what this means for us,” Fuma says. Before Kento can argue, he powers on, “Or it feels that way. When I bring it up to others outside the group, they say they’ve got no plans to disband. Or that it’s the least of their worries right now.”

            “‘Disband’? Who’s talking about disbanding?”

            “I don’t know,” Fuma mutters, so softly that Kento strains to hear him. “What about you? Would you want to go solo, at some point?”

            Fuma sounds so nervous that it overrides any anxiety that might have cropped up regarding future plans not jiving with one another. “No,” Kento assures him. “I can’t predict our circumstances in ten years’ time… But, for right now, a pure solo career is not my goal.”

            “I see.” Fuma’s relief is palpable in the thorough exhale he releases. It’s gone as soon as it comes – in the next second, he’s ramping up into a skittish monologue. “It’s not that I was looking for a specific answer. Because, you know. It’s not like you don’t deserve to have a solo career if that’s what you really want. Is that a double negative?”

            Kento pulls himself out of his own reverie when the rhythm of Fuma’s rambling changes and he fuzzily catches Fuma asking him if he’s listening. Kento aims single-minded attention at Fuma, and gets caught off-guard by the unmasked concern on the latter’s face. “What’s with that look?” Kento cups Fuma’s face, thumbs gliding across his cheekbones. “So much for not worrying over pointless things.”

            When Fuma’s gaze lowers deliberately, settling on Kento’s mouth, Kento promptly releases him and snakes a hand between them. “We better not. My cold might not be completely gone.”

            Fuma rolls his eyes. “I love that you say that _after_ you lured me in here with vague incentives.” He takes the prohibitive hand in his own and cradles it. “I’m blaming you if I get sick.”

            Kento ineffectually tries to retrieve the hand held in custody. “That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t kiss me.”

            “‘That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t kiss me,’” Fuma repeats mockingly. “Who do you think you’re fooling with that?”

            “Seriously, I could be contagious—mmmph!” The moment Fuma avails of the parted mouth nanometers from his, Kento’s brain goes haywire. Protectiveness over the younger man jousts with desire for him. But the demand – the _necessity_ behind Fuma’s pursuit heightens relentlessly, until burdens of responsibility putter out and perish.

            Fuma’s lips are soft and sure, warm pressure shooting straight into Kento’s chest, his belly, all his veins. Fuma moves like he’s working to arrest all of Kento’s senses with the nearly suffocating firmness of his kiss.

            By the time Fuma lets go of him, Kento’s afraid he might pass out from shortage of air (and he couldn’t care less if he did). He composes himself before he attempts a single word, kiss-stupid and perhaps disproportionately aroused by the breath mingling with his. “I don’t want things to change,” he eventually admits.

            “There’s no use wishing for that, though.” There’s none of Fuma’s trademark roughness as he offers this blunt reminder, treating the truth with care.

            “Obviously.” Kento brings their lips together one more time for good measure. It’s too late to save Fuma from his germs, anyway. “I won’t stop at wishes. I’m going to do everything I can to make it come true.”

            “I know you will.” Fuma reclaims the kiss that had been taken from him, stretching this one out, somehow not sacrificing a single degree of fervency despite the utter tenderness of it. “You know,” he murmurs, lingering so their lips snag as he speaks, “even if it gets harder in some ways, it might get better in others.”

            “Well then, everything should just change for the better. Either that, or have them stay the same.”

            “What if there’s one thing that will always stay the same? One thing you can be sure about. Would that be enough?” Fuma places one hand over Kento’s eyes, urging them to close, while his other hand grips the back of his skull. “Think of that one thing, Nakajima. That one truth that won’t ever change. Wanna do that for me right now?”

_The one truth that won’t ever change._

            Instantly, Kento’s mind fills with the words he brandishes for fans to hear on a regular basis. The same words he struggles to voice when a specific pair of eyes are looking back at him, seemingly seeing all that he thought he’d hidden from view.

            He concentrates on the words he rarely vocalizes directly to the one person they should be reserved for. Words that are always present, nonetheless.

            “Are you thinking of that one truth?” Fuma presses.

            Kento nods mutely, his talented tongue atrophying under a ferocity of emotion.

            The hand blocking his view is removed, but Kento keeps his eyes closed. He feels Fuma grin against his lips as he says, “Keep that in your head. And while you’re at it, it wouldn’t hurt to say you love me back, you jerk.”

 

 

***

 

 

**_Johnny Kitagawa laid to rest, leaves behind a controversial legacy_ **

_The burial ceremony of businessman Johnny Kitagawa, 86, took place yesterday. Kitagawa was the founder and president of Johnny’s & Associates (J&A), the company that launched careers of highly popular and recognizable acts such as SMAP, Hikaru Genji, and Arashi._

_The coverage surrounding recent events was inundated with reports regarding Kitagawa’s alleged history of sexual abuse of former employees. Majority of the charges claimed that the incidents occurred while the victims were underage._

_This followed the heels of the much-publicized violations committed by Yamaguchi Tatsuya, 46, then-member of J &A band, TOKIO. In April 2018, Yamaguchi faced legal repercussions after sexually harassing a 16-year-old female. J&A personalities – including fellow TOKIO members and Kitagawa – expressly censured Yamaguchi. Shortly after, Yamaguchi resigned from the agency._

_In regard to Kitagawa himself, past reports failed to impact either Kitagawa or his company. After Kitagawa’s death, however, reiterated accusations gained traction with the media, seemingly spurred by Yamaguchi’s case. Moreover, private citizens increasingly used social media channels to push the previously buried issue to the forefront._

_Foreign journalists also followed the story, anticipating an overhaul in Japan’s entertainment agency. The agency’s response to cases of this nature was cited as a potential catalyst for change. A Buzz Feed Japan article concurred, using the “Me Too” movement as precedent. The movement, which started late in 2017, saw the downfall of public figures such as influential Hollywood mogul from America, Harvey Weinstein, and resigned finance minister, Fukuda Junichi._

_At present, the future of J &A is unclear. Amidst calls for commensurate retribution, activities for talents who are not directly embroiled in ongoing cases proceed as normal. Meanwhile, sales and viewership figures have dropped dramatically since the agency’s consecutive scandals, shrinking the once dominant margins it once held over competitors. Julie Keiko Fujishima, Kitagawa’s niece and successor, is reportedly focusing on maintaining the company’s weakening ties with key stakeholders._

_Representatives from J &A declined to comment._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. フィルター越しに見た空の青

ずっと... フィルムに残せない温もりがあった  
もう... 君無しじゃ見れない景色があった  
風が優しく髪をとかしたら　今日も  
奇跡を信じられそう Stay Together  


 

 

            Kento flicks through their group chat, frowning at his phone. “Where are those two? Even Fuma’s here, face washed and everything.”

            Fuma raises an eyebrow. “The nerve. Considering you’re usually at fault for my tardiness.”

            Scandalized laughter escapes Marius as he ogles the couple. “Fuma-kun is throwing you under the bus, Kento-kun.”

            “Funny how you were also consistently last to turn up before we moved in together,” Kento fires back as Fuma clarifies that he shouldn’t be penalized for letting Kento have the bathroom first.

            Marius sidelines his amusement in favor of complaining about their missing members, but then Fuma informs him that it’s his fault. “Matsushima is under your jurisdiction.”

            “Why me?” Marius wails. “Blame Shori! Besides, I’m Sou-chan’s symmetry partner, not his keeper.”

            “Same thing,” Kento and Fuma chorus.

            A new voice interrupts them. “Sorry we’re late!”

            “Look! Look at this!” Kento points at his phone. “Here, Matsushima Sou: ‘we’ll be 10 minutes late.’ It’s” – he checks his watch – “7:28. 7:28!”

            “Surely the pair of you that opted out of higher education can tell us how many minutes late that is,” Fuma backs him up.

            “I’m feeling very attacked right now. For the record, it’s Sou’s fault,” Shori says. “Oh, you’re filming already?” He belatedly acknowledges the cameras being hauled onto the staff’s shoulders, facing the group’s general direction.

            “They caught you saying abusive things on film!” Sou points at Shori with a sense of gleeful retribution.

            “Hello!” Marius waves at the camera. “These guys are pointing fingers at one another. Don’t forget, when you do that, three other fingers are pointing back at you!”

            A hyper Shori beats Fuma to a smartass comment. “Not if I point like this,” he says, demonstrating a karate chop in the air, all five fingers pointing at Sou.

            Once settled, the two latecomers apologize, bowing to the staff members scattered around the area. One man who’d been around since the SekuChan era affectionately harkens back to the time the director ripped Sou apart for a similar offense, and threatens to subject him to a repeat performance. He further ups the stakes, saying, “Since the five of you have gotten so close, the entire group has to take responsibility for one person’s mistakes, don’t you think?”

            The March-birthday trio disagrees with this idea, trying to drown out Shori and Sou’s rallying cry of “all for one, one for all!”

            The director waves his hands. “It’s settled. Punishment shall be doled out to the whole group. That means, each of you gets to wear this for the whole day.” He gestures to a PA who holds up a burlap sack.

            “How are all five of us going to fit in that?” Fuma jokes.

            “You wish you were wearing the sack,” the PA retorts. Ominously, she tugs on one end of a string, prying the bag open. She fishes out an item that makes the five members scrunch their eyebrows in tandem.

            “…Is that a wizard hat?” Shori’s voice wavers in a way that it hasn’t in a good five or six years. In contrast, Sou breaks into a dash the moment he sees the hat, eager to try it on.

            “It’s the Fantasia hat,” Marius supplies.

            “Oh, it’s Stitch!” Sou peeks into the bag and plucks a piece that’s even fuzzier.

            “We got this one especially for you.” Another staff member approaches Kento with brown head gear resembling a character that has become endearingly familiar. A corresponding hat – a few shades lighter in color, with a red nose and sleepy eyes – is also fitted over Fuma’s hair. “Huh, this actually suits you guys better than I thought it would.”

            Fuma adjusts his Dale hat with a snicker. “I’m sorry that we don’t look absurd enough to match your expectations.”

            The head producer graciously accepts Fuma’s apology and asks them if they’re curious about the significance of the hats. Shori guesses that they’re filming a Tsum-Tsum commercial as a group, prompting elated gasps from Sou and Marius. The producer makes a buzzer sound, and the three harmonize in groaning.

            The staff make up for their disappointment with the eventual announcement that the whole group is headed to Disneyland, with tickets already accounted for. Sou and Marius in particular celebrate for a full five minutes, and Shori is so distracted by them that Kento and Fuma hardly have to put effort into feigning surprise.

            “We’re not even filming? All these cameras and boomers were brought out as props?” Kento observes the various equipment being packed away, amused by the lengths they’d gone to play along with Fuma’s ruse.

            “The entire day is 100% private time,” the producer assures them. “In fact, you’re free to ditch us after we drive you there.”

            “Hah! As if you can escape from us that easily.”

            After their entourage arrives at the gates of the theme park, they throw shame to the wind and pose like superheroes in their cutesy hats. The director and the rest of the staff take pictures of them in multiple angles, using their personal cell phones instead of company-sponsored cameras.

            Most of their time is spent in line or eating at overpriced concession stands. Occasionally, they get to enjoy the rides and attractions at the end of hours-long tests of patience. In one such ride, Sou has an untimely case of vertigo. The roller coaster itself wasn’t the worst ordeal for Sou – it was the aftermath that he regretted. Specifically, the part where he ended up expelling his lunch into a trash can.

            Everyone fusses around him after that, alternating between ribbing him and ensuring his stability whenever he takes a step. In the midst of the ancillary chaos, Fuma catches Kento’s eye and meaningfully jerks his head to one side.

            Kento tilts his own head questioningly, but Fuma doesn’t communicate anything else before he slips away. Kento is left to stew in internal questioning as he watches Fuma duck out of view. Though confused, he mentally counts to ten before taking off in the same direction. Anticipation meets dread in the pit of his stomach, uncertainty extracting the best and the worst that his imagination can conjure.

            Kento finds Fuma loitering in a shaded area, back against the wall and one leg bent to prop his foot up behind him. Kento comes up to him, leaving a discreet space between them.

            “Did you invite me here to stand around while you play with your phone?” Kento says after going about five seconds unacknowledged.

            “Wait a second.” After a moment longer, Fuma angles his phone towards Kento.

            Kento is offered a view of his face taking up the expanse of Fuma’s screen: a profile baring an irrepressible smile that’s only appropriate for a grown man wearing a Disney character as a hat. He feels his lips stretch on their own to mirror that smile and deftly snatches Fuma’s phone from him.

            “We’re in public!” Fuma protests under his breath while letting himself be dragged closer to Kento’s side when the other yanks on his arm.

            “Now you care about that?” Kento scoffs with justified disbelief. He extends his free arm out with Fuma’s phone in hand, ready to snap a picture. “Having my face alone as your wallpaper is suspicious, you know. At least make it the two of us.”

            Kento takes several selfies in rapid-fire succession. When he returns Fuma’s phone to its owner, the camera roll is filled to the brim.

             “Pfft. These aren’t incriminating at all,” Fuma mutters with a fond chuckle. On each of the shots Kento took, the two of them are grinning without reservation, unconscious of wrinkles around their eyes or dental imperfections they chose not to fix. And though their own heads aren’t touching, their Chip and Dale hats slope towards each other, making the chipmunks appear as if they were either lovers or conjoined twins.

            Kento immobilizes Fuma with a squeeze around the wrist when they get to one particular image. He declares it a miracle shot, praising the surreptitious lighting. It casts a whimsical shadow around their amorous-looking mascots while illuminating their smiles. Behind them, the sky is almost freakishly blue and especially vast, unfragmented by a single cloud.

            “To think how miserable I’ve been all week. Nobody would guess it if they saw how stupidly happy we look here.” Kento smiles at Fuma – a bit more subdued than the one flashed on the photo, but no less heartfelt. “Thank you for today. Seriously. It’s the best day I’ve had in a really long time.”

            “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Fuma clears his throat. “I mean, not the part where you implied that the ones before today were complete shit, but.”

            “No, that’s only the last couple of weeks or so,” Kento says. “Those aside, I’ve been spoiled with fantastic days.” He wills Fuma to complete the rest of his thought without him having to transcribe them into words.

            Fuma is visibly girding himself as he prepares to respond. “I want us to have those again, in spite of what’s behind us. In spite of what else might be ahead of us.”

            Kento stares into Fuma’s eyes, instinctively searching for what’s been concealed between the lines. “Me too.”

            “I’m. Um. I—” Fuma cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath, letting it go in a shuddering sigh. “Tonight, when we go out to dinner with everyone. I’m going to announce that I’ll be handing in my resignation on Thursday. Effective next month.”

            Kento’s wide eyes are shuttered by the involuntary spastic fluttering of his eyelashes. He wonders briefly if his body has broken down on him, what with the foreign chill shooting through his bones and the contents of his torso feeling as if it’s been replaced with quicksand.

            Fuma looks as though he’s being personally persecuted by those involuntary reactions manifesting in Kento’s facial expressions and body language. “I wanted to tell you in the bath. But, you were making this face and it was honestly. Kind of killing me.”

            “That. I. You’re _announcing_ that you’re _leaving our group_ tonight?” Kento demands quietly, exercising all the willpower he possesses to keep his voice down. “‘Effective next month’! What, you’re racing with Subaru-kun? Who, unlike you, found time to loop his group in early on.”

            “Nakajima, I’m not—”

            “Seriously, you can’t discuss this with us first? With _me_?!”

            Fuma takes a moment to answer, and Kento knows that he’s biting back his natural instinct to retaliate with sharp words. “I’m not leaving the group.”

            “Who the hell are you kidding? That’s exactly what you’d be doing! I don’t want to hear about the purity of your motives, you’re leaving us, point-blank!”

            “Shhh. Hey, scream at me when we get home tonight. Sock me in the jaw, but do it later. Believe me, I really didn’t want to ambush you with this. That’s why I’m letting you know now.”

            “Oh! Oh yes, thanks for warning me two days in advance of the fact!”

            “You’d spend every waking hour convincing me to stay if I told you from the beginning. You’re dangerous, and I mean that as a compliment for the most part.” To his credit, Fuma looks slightly ashamed buttering Kento up now of all times, even though he’s only doing it out of sincerity. “We wouldn’t get anywhere with that, and I can only take so much of you acting like I’ve rejected you. And before you say it, yes, I’m aware that that’s my problem and not yours.”

            Kento lets his unimpressed glare speak for itself.

            “I know.” Fuma breaks eye contact, not equipped to handle how his partner has been reduced to silent but blatantly hostile seething. “You’re the first one I told, for whatever that’s worth. I haven’t even told my parents…”

            At this moment, it isn’t worth much to Kento. “It’s nice to know you didn’t care enough for anyone’s support before deciding to leave us.”

            “I’ll keep saying this until you hear me: I’m not leaving you. Nor Shori, Matsushima, or Marius,” Fuma says, heavy with emphasis.

            “Congratulations then, because that’s about the only thing you’ll accomplish at the end of the day,” Kento snaps. “If you go, who do you think will suffer? Will it be the board of management? The ones behind the crimes? Or will it be the five of us? The staff, our coworkers, and our co-stars? The fans?”

            “What about that 16-year-old?” Fuma counters. “What about those kids who’ve lived with their pain in paid-off silence for longer than you and I have been alive?”

            Kento shakes his head. “So we’re the ones who get punished? Not the perpetrators?”

            “The prospect of failure shouldn’t stop us from trying,” Fuma whispers. “I know it’s a lot to gamble for a pay-off that might not come. I know it’s scary. Trust me, I know the fear intimately; I’ve been living with it for some time now. But…” He swallows. “Hey, remember what we talked about in the bath last night. Remember?”

            Kento stares unseeingly at the sky, still unerringly bright and clear, impervious to the fact that his world is shattering right before him. “I want to go home.”

            “We don’t have to stay long at the bar tonight,” Fuma offers, guilt tinging his tone with a rare submissiveness.

            When Kento turns to leave, Fuma grabs his shoulder to get him to stay. Perhaps it’s the unexpected touch, or perhaps he’s operating on muscle memory to sync to Fuma’s movements, but he stops in his tracks despite an all-consuming need to be diverted by anything or anyone besides his partner.

            Behind Kento, Fuma says, “I wouldn’t even know how to let you go. Okay?” His voice cracks, seeping desperation. He’s never sounded more like a stranger to Kento’s ears.

 

 

***

 

 

            “It’s a little late for April fool’s, isn’t it?” Marius says. “Isn’t it?”

            Fuma runs out of words after he delivers the speech he’d been mentally cobbling together for most of the week. They’re frozen in place by the stares uniformly aimed at him, flashing emotions that range from dejection to astonishment. A lone gaze is withheld, pinned to the table, not deigning to rise and meet Fuma’s.

            As the silence spreads out and occupies more space, Marius’s eyes start to well and Sou looks dangerously close to following suit. A staff member gets up to gather them to her chest, stroking their hair the way she used to do when one of them would get homesick.

            A producer places one hand placed over Shori’s fisted one as he grants Fuma a kind smile. “Fuma, thank you for telling us your decision. Many of us here have been on board since you were such tiny creatures. It’s been an honor for us watching the five of you grow. And really, what you do from here on out is a testament to the man you’ve become.”

            “Don’t think that just because you find different representation, we’ll stop watching over you,” another producer says. “We’ll continue to root for you, Fuma.”

            Fuma bows, bowled over by their compassion. “I’m in no position to make any requests, but… If I can take this time to express what an ideal future would be for me, I hope you’d hear me out.”

            “What’s your ideal future?” Shori valiantly strives for a conversational tone.

            “One day, I want to be work with each one of you around this table once again,” Fuma says. “I want to return to the stage someday, look to the side, and see those same four faces who’ve left me overflowing with memories. With dumbass laughter and ugly crying.”

            As if on cue, Sou releases a sob he’d been holding back and immediately wedges a hand between him and the staff hugging him.

            Fuma bites his lip hard and soldiers on. “I don’t care if it’s where we started, or if we have to find a new place for us. I’ve found the power of these five people. I can promise you that I won’t let that go so easily.”

            Two things happen in the next moment: Sou gets up from the table at the same time Marius grabs Kento’s sleeve and drags him to the side. Shori catches Fuma’s eye and the two of them hold a non-verbal conversation that both parties struggle to comprehend. Fuma just nods and gestures for Shori to follow him and see if Sou will welcome their presence.

            They find Sou hunched next to a streetlight, merged into himself, hands clasped below his forehead. Fuma reaches him first. “Do you want us to get lost? Or maybe just me?”

            Sou sniffles loudly for a few beats before he’s able to respond. “No. Not tonight, not ever.”

            “I have to do this, Matsushima.” Fuma leans against the streetlight and lets his back slide down the pole to come to a squat. “It sucks. I hate to do this to everyone, to you four most of all.”

            “Will… Will Kento-kun leave, too?”

            “No. I don’t know that he ever will. Although, when it’s not such a sore topic and if the situation in the agency hasn’t gotten better, I’m gonna try my best to convince him to,” Fuma divulges. “That’s a warning for you, too. I don’t want to pressure you, but I wasn’t blowing air up your ass in there saying that my end-goal is to keep the five of us together. And I want to do it under terms we can live with.”

            “I’ve thought about resigning, too,” Shori pipes up suddenly. “Not for very long, though.”

            Sou emerges from his self-made cocoon to glance up at Shori, who’s now the only one standing in their little group.

            “For me… the timing is less than optimal,” Shori says.

            “Your drama with Sho,” Sou says.

            Shori nods. “Me leaving the agency is the last thing that project needs before it even gets going. Sho and Kishi and the others are in such an awful situation. There’s enough bad press overshadowing their debut, stuff that’s not under their control. They need stability.”

            “That’s probably true,” Fuma agrees. “Once your drama ends, would leaving be an option for you?”

            “I can’t answer that for sure right now,” Shori hedges.

            “I don’t know, either. I don’t know what to do. I want to stay and support the others. And at the same time.” Sou gasps like it hurts him to breathe. “At the same time, someone close to me told me about what happened to her, and… It wasn’t the same as what they say Johnny-san did, or what Yamaguchi-kun did. But it was… I don’t know. How do I face her with the way things are right now?”

            “If she really is close to you, she’ll know what kind of person you are,” Shori tells him. “She knows that, whatever you decide, you’re trying to do the right thing.”

            Sou turns to Fuma. “But you’ve decided what the right thing is, haven’t you?”

            “I decided what the right thing is for me,” Fuma says. “It’s not the same for everyone. We’ve got so many reasons pulling us in so many directions. Nothing’s more valid than the rest.”

            Fuma meets Sou’s eyes, then Shori’s, asking for their attention, as well as their understanding. “Shori. Matsushima. We’re at a fork. It goes in separate directions, but it’s only for now. Okay? I want you to understand that. Even if I have to pave the roads myself, our paths will definitely cross again.”

 

 

***

 

 

            That night, Kento shoots Fuma down at least four times in the latter’s bid for conversation. One time, he does it before Fuma even opens his mouth. By the time Kento’s ready to talk, he’s already changed into sleepwear, contact lenses put away. He slides underneath the blankets next to Fuma, nearly teetering over the edge with the distance he’s enforcing.

            “Marius wants out, too,” Kento says.

            “Marius?” Fuma repeats, dumbfounded.

            Kento can feel the weight of his gaze, but he keeps his straight ahead. “He wanted to ask my opinion about it when you and Shori ran after Matsushima.” Another silence, then a dry chuckle. “He must’ve thought it wasn’t the first time someone came to me with that subject.”

            Fuma turns away, chastened. “I’m sorry. I really wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

            “I understand why you’re doing this,” Kento says eventually. “I do. But don’t tell me that you don’t have a choice. You have a choice, and you’ve made it. And my input was neither wanted nor needed.”

            “I never said—” Fuma starts.

            “You didn’t have to,” Kento interrupts him.

            “But I don’t want you to think—” Fuma tries again.

            “Stop. Just, please, stop. I don’t want to do this.” Kento hikes the sheets up to his chin and turns to his side, facing the wall. “I don’t feel like I can even fight with you about this. I can’t be mad at you for who you are. And if I fought you now, I’d just be tearing one more fracture into our relationship.”

            “We can talk.” A tentative hand reaches out to land lightly over a blanketed shoulder. “You’re right – we’ll definitely have a blow-up for the ages – but that’s no reason to shy away from having the conversation.”

            “How’s that going to work out? If you have it your way, we’ll be out of each other’s lives.”

            Kento hears rustling behind him. He debates internally about throwing a retaliatory elbow out. Pure exhaustion may be stilling his limbs, as he makes no move when a solid figure molds itself to his back.

            “Why? You kicking me out of the apartment?” Fuma questions into his nape.

             “If you resign, we’d only see each other in the nighttime. At best.” Kento thinks he’s doing a fine job keeping a wretched quiver out of his voice, but the tightening arm around him begets second thoughts. “We’d probably stop hanging out with the same people. The next thing you know, you’re breaking up with me and eloping with some indie actor who doesn’t sweat unless he or she is in a sauna.”

            A horrified chuckle is torn out of Fuma. “What? By now, I’m trained to find excessive perspiration hot. You’ve turned me into a pervert with a sweat spray fetish. You’ve done permanent damage, got that? No returns, no exchanges.”

            Kento smiles wanly though Fuma can’t see it. “The damage was there before I even laid a hand on you. You came in that package when you were delivered to me.”

            The arm Fuma had around Kento retreats, only to slither underneath the blanket and wind itself more snugly. “Okay, I wasn’t planning on bringing this up right away, I swear. But, if you’re really worried— though you shouldn’t be. Just, if you’re torturing yourself over it, it could be worth thinking about… you know. Coming along with me. And Marius, I guess.”

            “I’d need a lot more time to even consider that,” Kento replies flatly, even as he takes it upon himself to tangle his fingers with Fuma’s fingers.

            “As long as you consider it,” Fuma says. “And so long as you weigh in the pros, too. Not just focusing on how hard it would be or what it would look like.”

            “Right. How could I forget the fortunes I’d come upon by cutting ties with the single biggest player in the industry?”

            Fuma goes quiet. After some time, he says, “For one thing, we wouldn’t have to hide anymore. The effort we exert calculating the perfect balance of fanservice could be dedicated to other things.”

            Kento picks up on his tactics – Fuma knows the angles that sway Kento’s heart. So Kento counterattacks with logic, the approach that Fuma prides himself in adhering to. “The second we do that, we’d be lucky to come away with half our fanbase intact. Not to mention any of our endorsements.”

            “Who knows that for sure anymore? Times change.”

            Kento has no response to that. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t find it fair for you to force my hand like this.”

            “I’m not trying to back you into a corner,” Fuma defends himself. “You know me better than that.”

            “In any case, it goes both ways,” Kento says. “If you’re allowed to try and convince me to join you, I should be allowed to try and convince you not to go.”

            “I never said you weren’t allowed. I’m just against it ‘cause no one wants to see you setting yourself up for failure.”

            “Is that so? You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to motivate you to postpone your decision?” Before Kento has a chance to think about what he’s doing, he’s shaking the covers off him and turning around to serve Fuma a faux-innocent look played up for ironic effect. He should probably be ashamed that flirting is second nature to him, to the extent that it’s practically become an involuntary action.

            The suggestiveness isn’t lost on Fuma, but he doesn’t quite crumble and fall in line as Kento hoped. “There’s no use in postponing it.” Fuma softens his stern response by caressing Kento’s cheek. “I need you to accept that I’m not going to change my mind. It’s pointless to get your hopes up. Not to mention dangerous.”

            “Yeah, so you’ve mentioned.” Kento drops his voice to a low whisper, matching Fuma’s. “What if my request came with incentives?”

            “Such as?” Fuma’s being coy. He can’t be oblivious with Kento sliding right into his space, joining their hands and trapping them between their chests.

            Kento himself is only realizing what his body has in store for Fuma as it moves on its own accord. “Well, if you can be cooperative, so can I.” He presses his lips to Fuma’s jaw and grazes along the line of it where it leads to his earlobe. From this close, Kento can see Fuma’s Adams apple bobbing. He moves to kiss it, trailing down over the pale column of his neck.

            “You really are dangerous,” Fuma informs him yet again.

            Kento has rid himself of the last vestiges of shame by the time he’s made his way down the hollow of Fuma’s throat. While he’s down there, he might as well let his lips part just a tiny bit so they can slip over where Fuma’s collarbone juts out. He belatedly recalls that he’s on a mission and halts his fingers from mapping out the contours of Fuma’s ribs. “We haven’t reached an agreement. Should I stop now, or…?”

            “You’re the worst.” Fuma grabs him by the shoulders, crashing their lips together. Kento reacts with an instant moan, hands falling down to latch onto Fuma’s hips, pulling him in as he rocks forward at the same time. “You are the actual worst.”

            “You’re the one who isn’t playing fair.”

            Fuma screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth to contain another moan. When his eyes fly open, they deliberately seek out Kento’s with an almost comically frantic expression, before they drop pointedly to where they’re grinding against each other. “You need to touch me.”

            When he sets his mind to it, Kento is excellent at taking directions. He shoves a hand between them as he wriggles out of his bottoms. Kento’s waistband is halfway down his thighs when he abandons his efforts to fully escape his pajamas, taking his erection in hand alongside Fuma’s. They cry out together as Kento’s fist provides a tight pressure to the heat they’re already sharing between them. Kento intensifies the friction, strokes gaining speed by the second. His other hand grabs Fuma’s ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Fuma responds by heartily kneading Kento’s in kind, making Kento buck up into his own hand and Fuma’s hardness.

            They rest their foreheads together, pants and groans mingling between them. Kento closes the gap between their lips when he feels his orgasm creep up on him with alarming haste, and he barely makes it in time to groan into Fuma’s mouth. Fuma eagerly swallows the keening sounds, returning them when Kento’s hand lingers over the top of their erections, nudging them together as Kento’s pulses and slacks. Within seconds, he’s biting Kento’s swollen lower lip and jerking in his touch, covering Kento’s hand with his own release.

            Both dazed, they lean on each other as they catch their breaths. Kento moves his hand off the side of the bed where it hangs a little awkward and a lot filthy.

            “Nakajima.”

            “Mmpf.”

            “FYI, the moment there’s hand-on-dick contact, all proclamations made thereafter are null and void.” Fuma claims a kiss to go along with his ruling. “Seriously, though, my mind’s made up. Dole out sexual favors all you want, it won’t change anything. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no, that wasn’t an invitation for you to try.”

            Kento’s eye cracks open. “Really? You want me persuading you all night?”

            “No. Don’t turn me into a guy that would accept a proposition like that.”

            “You’re already that guy.” Kento snorts. “Besides, I was talking about cuddling, you creep.”

            “Like hell you were, you ho.”

            “Shush. I’ve never been accused of not trying hard enough, and I’m not breaking my streak tonight.”

 

 

***

 

 

**_Johnny’s group Sexy Zone on hiatus after two members resign_ **

_Popular boyband Sexy Zone announced a group hiatus following the resignation of two of its members, Kikuchi Fuma, 23, and Marius Yo, 18, set for the end of the month. The rest of the members will continue under the management of Johnny’s & Associates._

_Letters were mailed to fan club members detailing the reasons behind their departure. Kikuchi stated that he “treasures the fans, the members, the staff, and the memories they created together”, and is taking a leave of absence to “preserve the purity of these memories”. He cited the discourse surrounding the company as a detriment to fulfilling his obligations “in a satisfactory manner”. In a separate announcement, Yo also disclosed extreme media activity as a deterrent for resuming activities under the agency. His goal is to focus on his studies outside of the spotlight. Both Kikuchi and Yo affirmed their inclination to return to the agency under improved personal circumstances._

_In the meantime, fans of Sexy Zone still have much to look forward to from the three remaining members. Sato Shori, 21, is set to star in a drama series with King & Prince member, Hirano Sho, 20. Nakajima Kento, 24, will hold on to his spot on panel shows, in addition to filming an upcoming movie and recording a solo single for its soundtrack. Matsushima Sou, 20, is slated to appear in a series that will be available for streaming online. Outside of their previously scheduled commitments, the agency said it will continue to support Sato, Nakajima, and Matsushima in their endeavors._

 


	3. 会いたいよ

会いたいよ  
すぐに会いたいよ  
夢見てた光景見つけたら  
きっとその先の未来で僕は  
君と一緒にいれるかな  


 

 

            Kento really likes Shori.

            It’s not just that he’s a dependable colleague, honing a bottomless of reserve of talent with equally bountiful capacity for hard work. And it’s not just that his face is an arresting tour de force in symmetry. Beyond that, it’s Shori’s penchant for easy companionship that endears him to Kento.

            Since Fuma and Marius resigned, Shori and Fuma joined forces to keep their five-member group chat alive. Shori also regularly checks in with Kento and Sou with spontaneous phone calls or dinner plans. He seems to understand the significance of holding on to the remaining pieces when everything is in shambles. He is, after all, a part of a generation that grew up watching fissures crop up and witnessing the aftermath. Before Sexy Zone, there was News and KAT-TUN, groups that rose from their respective wreckages and took on a new form. But it took care, and protection, and patience.

            Shori also devotes time to cultivating the bonds he’d formed outside their group. Not for the first time, Kento bears witness to Shori’s apparently effortless method of preserving connections when the younger man rallies him to dinner with Hirano Sho and Kishi Yuta.

            Sho and Kishi do enough talking that Kento can sit back and let their voices wash over him, smiling every now and then when Shori’s tinkling laughter cues him in. Kento drifts in and out of conversation, preoccupied in determining whether he missed some elementary school lesson on holding on to the people in his life. If so, he might have to ask Shori for a remedial class on Friendship 101.

            An awkward silence stretches out after Kishi says something. It takes three sets of eyes boring holes in his face before Kento finally realizes that Kishi had addressed him. “Sorry, what did you say?”

            “I said, why’s Fuma surprised that you’re here with us?” Kishi holds up his phone, displaying text that Kento can’t really read from where he’s sitting. His eyes widen. “Did you not want him to know?”

            Kento waves Kishi’s panic off. “I’m not hiding from him. We haven’t seen much of each other lately, that’s all. It’s hard to keep each other up to date when our schedules keep clashing. Besides, he hardly had his own schedule memorized when we were in the same group, never mind mine.”

            “But I thought you…” Kishi trades glances with Sho and Shori, unsure of what he’s allowed to say. “…lived together?”

            “We sleep in the same room. That’s about the extent of it these days.” Kento shrugs. “He’s busy auditioning. It’s harder with… more modest representation.”

            “You’re swamped, too, aren’t you? With your movie and your solo debut.” Shori’s smile ensures that there’s no malice behind his words.

            “It’s not a solo debut any more than ‘with B.I. Shadow’ was a debut,” Kento disputes. “This is a one-off.”

            “It’s like Kaibutsu-kun,” Kishi volunteers.

            “Or like Mr. King vs. Mr. Prince,” Sho adds.

            “Eh? How exactly did you come to the conclusion that what we’re talking about is the same as dropping three words from your group name?” Shori smirks at Sho’s less apt example while the latter returns his gaze blankly. Once he’s done enjoying the capriciousness of Sho’s contribution, Shori addresses Kento. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be wrong to think of it as a solo debut. The timing couldn’t be better if you think about it. A hiatus is the perfect time for solo activities, right?”

            Kishi and Sho fall silent as though they’ve breached taboo territory. “Did Kikuchi put you up to this?” Kento guesses. “I’ve sworn up and down I’m not thinking about going solo right now. In fact, I’ve said it about as often as he’s told me that that he’s not stooping down to our level and rejoining Johnny’s soon.”

            “He never used those words, did he?” Shori says. “He doesn’t think that way about us.”

            “Fuma said something about it once,” Kishi volunteers. “Like… It’s like a bar of soap in a tub of shit.”

            Kento wrinkles his nose. “Alright?”

            “Shit’s gonna get on the soap, but it won’t take out the essence of the soap. Soap will still exist to clean things, no matter what gets on it. On the other hand, it can’t do any cleaning in a tub of shit. It won’t do shit to the shit, in other words.”

            Shori mercifully intervenes. “If you’re going to attempt to be profound, at least avoid saying ‘shit’ every couple of words.”

            “I forgot how he put it! Let me start over.”

            Shori bodily turns to Kento, physically shutting Kishi out. The palpable concern introduced in his eyes suggests that Kento had been too honest expressing his frustration. “His goal hasn’t changed, right? What he wants is to have the five of us to stand onstage, together again.”

            Kento believes that too, except he has no idea how they’re supposed to work for such an outcome when Fuma voluntarily separated himself from them. He understands that Fuma wants him and Shori and Sou to take the same step he did, except he can’t bring himself to turn his world upside down.

            Of course, Kento’s not about to air out those grievances to Shori, and certainly not to Kishi and Sho. Instead, he simply nods. He gets ready to tell Shori that he’s right when his phone starts to go off. “Scary! He knows we’re talking about him,” Kento laughs when he reads the name on the display. “I’ll be right back.”

            Kento slips out of the booth and answers his phone as he dashes out the restaurant.

            “Hey,” Fuma’s voice streams through the earpiece. “I’ve spared you from acting interested in whatever dumb story Kishi’s making up, so feel free to show me your gratitude later.”

            Kento snorts, slightly distracted as he hides himself in a narrow, secluded alley. “My hero.”

            “I thought you’d be busy tonight.”

            “Nope. I’m busy tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow? Shit. We could’ve gone tonight.”

            “Gone where?”

            Fuma’s exhale crackles over the line. “I’m coming out to my grandparents. I have to do it before they go off to Okinawa on Thursday.”

            “Oh,” Kento breathes out. “Oh, wow. That’s great.” Fuma didn’t have to say that he wanted Kento to be around. They were together both times one of them came out to his parents, although it had been… spontaneous, in Fuma’s case.

            “I can’t come with you, though,” Kento continues with sincere regret. “I don’t have time between now and Thursday.”

            “Not even a couple of hours?” Fuma prods.

            The fact that Fuma hasn’t denied how much Kento’s presence would mean to him makes it even more painful to disappoint him. “I’m sorry. Is it really important for you to do it right away?”

            “Yes, it is. I’m not just demanding time that you don’t have. I’ve got a lot on my plate, too.”

            “Well, no need to snap at me. It’s not my fault there’s a lot going on.” Kento catches himself before he echoes the sudden edge he picked up in Fuma’s tone. “If it truly can’t wait, I’m sorry. But if it can, then we can plan that trip in advance?”

            “It can’t wait. One hour of free time will be a freaking luxury in a few weeks.” With a tinge of barely veiled desperation, Fuma asks, “How about tonight? What time will you be home?”

            “Late,” Kento decides with a heavy exhale. In truth, he’d been ready to crawl into bed some two hours ago. The thing is, it’s not a very inviting thought to share said bed with a man he’s been consistently disappointing lately.

            It hadn’t occurred to him at that moment to ask Fuma why he’d be especially busy soon.

 

 

***

 

 

            Fuma feels a lot lighter after he comes out to his extended family. It goes a lot smoother than the time Kento had the heart-to-heart with his parents. And far less mortifying than when he and Kento unwittingly bestowed a more private facet of their relationship to his own parents.

            As much as he’d like to consign that second memory to oblivion, he can’t deny the relief it came with. It spared him the concentrated agony of preparing to bare his soul to his parents, of gathering the courage it takes to gamble acceptance for truth.

            By the time Kento’s turn came around, it was premeditated. It took several nights of Fuma enduring bone-crushing grips on his hand and weathering subsequent retreats. Fuma did everything in his power to keep Kento together after each perceived failure, when Kento would curse at himself when his resolve would slip from his grasp in the last minute. It took a few more false starts and repeated assurance that his earlier surrenders were nothing to be ashamed about before Kento finally assembled his parents in their living room once and for all.

            Fuma relived a bit of that anxiety twice over to come out to his grandparents. Never mind that he’s known nothing but love from them, or that they’re fantastic examples of human beings who have not once given him a reason for doubt.

            Still. Fuma’s predictions have been completely contradicted before.

            In the end, there were no adverse reactions to contend with. They were all visibly surprised after Fuma broke the news to them. The grandmother who’d been invested in Fuma’s relationship with a former flame was crushed that she wasn’t going to get her favored in-law, but she was supportive all the same.

            It turned out far better than Fuma dared to hope for. However, there is a part of him that, even after the fact, regrets that not being able to show Kento off during his big reveal. But hey, there’ll be opportunity for that somewhere down the road. Once he and Kento get their shit together and their work-related imbroglios subside into a more organized chaos.

            For the moment, Fuma’s overjoyed that he even has the privilege of work-related troubles. After all, it was only a handful of months ago that his mom was offering a crash course on unemployment practicalities.

            Once the ink dried on the contract that Fuma signed that day, he’d officially landed his first job without Sexy Zone beside him. And, almost as dauntingly, without Johnny’s propping him up. The mountain of rejections that piled up behind him now appear to him like an afterimage from a past life. And for the first time in nearly a year, he’s never been more certain of the path he’s on.

            It’s not that he’s close to victory – it just means he’s clos _er_. Fuma secured his spot at the starting point. The clear line that he saw while making the most harrowing decision in his life now cuts a brighter outline into the distance. That line connecting point A to point B now burns his retinas, and he’s finally getting into stance, readying to sprint ahead.

            Fuma really wasn’t trying to force Kento’s hand into following his lead. When he made up his mind to leave the company on his own, he did it with acute understanding of Kento’s devotion to his job. Fuma would go as far as saying that it’s not just a job to Kento, it’s a vital piece of his identity. Fuma couldn’t legitimately ask Kento to ditch one love of his life (even if it would be to follow his other one), not when it ostensibly meant trading in fruits born from a whole decade of sweat and tears.

            But when Fuma came to his decision, he did promise to himself that he’d single-handedly ease the others in. Leave a trail of irresistible, easily digestible crumbs for the picking. Arm them with the weapons they’d need to enter into a brand-new battlefield.

            In his head, it goes like this.

                        Step One: Pave the way.

                        Step Two: Round up the troops.

                        Step Three: ~~Profit~~ Conquer!

            Fuma’s first non-Johnny’s job is but a single brick laid down on the road to his destination. And he is going to make damn sure that it’s the most ethereal brick to have materialized in front of mortal eyeballs.

            His new role is thrilling, in that it’s exciting as well as slightly daunting. He hadn’t done anything like it in his years of vast Johnny’s experience. But Fuma can at least be sure that he’s got the legs for his newly earned role, if Kento’s attraction to him is anything to go by.

 

 

***

 

 

            Kento cringes as he bows apologetically to the crew observing him behind the glass. He holds a finger up, asking for them to repeat the backing track so he can redo the verse – this time, in the correct octave. There should be no shame in striving for perfection, but he’s never had to re-record a single bar for a fifth time. Then again, he’s never hated his voice as much as he has since realizing that it’ll never harmonize with Fuma’s ever again.

            Which is probably a tad over-dramatic.

            Kento’s untimely regression preys on itself, each missed note nicking his self-esteem and sabotaging the subsequent attempt. It’s frustrating beyond words. Even before their debut, he worked obsessively so he didn’t have to feel that gnawing insecurity about his vocal capabilities, and now, it’s as if he’s back to square one. In the back of his head, he’d fret over their label making them re-record old songs to replace Fuma and Marius’s vocals. The idea of releasing a single or album without Fuma to make up for his shortages has him shaking in his sneakers.

            Kento blames his ghastly performance on the fact that he and Fuma hadn’t talked much after the latter broke the news about his upcoming project, then promptly left to visit his family.

            The thing is, there’s a face that’s etched permanently in Kento’s memory. It’s his mother’s stone-cold expression, that moment she had been sitting down with his father, across from him and Fuma.

            He remembers an unending deafening silence after he let go of a secret that occupied a permanent corner in his mind. He remembers her clipped gait as she walked out of the living room, and the panicked skidding of his father as he raced out after her. And he remembers Fuma clinging to him for the longest twenty minutes of his life. The twenty minutes it took for his mother to return to the house, to remind Kento that his parents’ love isn’t contingent on a set of criteria that he needs to meet.

            When he hears himself warble out another rickety note, it’s almost like having an out-of-body experience. Seriously, not again.

            A staff member barks out Kento’s name, snapping him out of his reverie to reprimand him. “The agency is reeling, your band is in an indefinite hiatus, and you feel like you can slack off?”

            Kento’s heart drops to his stomach, startled by the sharp rebuke. “I’ll do better. I just need one more take.” He's just thankful there are no documentary cameras to play it up for, no extra burden to internally summon the smile that’s evading him.

            The staff member that scolded him enters the recording booth. He takes Kento to the corner to berate him a bit more privately. Kento hangs his head and pays attention, though out of the corner of his eye, he watches a couple of audio engineers talking to each other in the control room. They keep glancing his way, a dead giveaway of their topic of conversation.

            The staff clasps Kento’s shoulder – the industry-wide reminder that one should not take anything personally – as he announces to the others that they’ve got a half-hour break before they need to start up again.

            Kento curbs the urge to check his phone for comfort and/or diversion, not keen on substantiating any suspicions of dwindling commitment to his job. A message is exactly what could bring him out of his funk, though. A name popping up in his inbox, assuring him that they’re in good terms – that alone might do wonders for his vibrato.

            Fuma’s likely submerging himself in his new project right about now. Kento was so in awe when Fuma told him about it. Pride doesn’t even begin to cover what Kento felt in that moment.

            And also…

            There was – there _is_ that horrible part of him that’s almost disheartened by Fuma’s success. It’s the part that construes it as the final nail in the coffin for the group formerly known as Sexy Zone. Obviously, the last thing Kento wants is for Fuma to fail. At the same time, he can’t help but fear for the group’s future chances of reuniting.

            And Kento needs to stop himself there. He’s not using this break wisely, to say the least. In letting his emotions run amok, all he’s doing is disinviting every trace of motivation.

            Now he wishes there _were_ cameras around to film his every move. He welcomes the thought of discovering happiness on command. Forced to squint with all his might to find the light at the end of the tunnel.

 

 

***

 

 

            The first dress rehearsal was an unmitigated mess, with Fuma treating the stage as if it were a Slip ‘N Slide. Luckily, he’s no stranger to falling flat on his face in front of an audience. What he’s less familiar with is performing frenetic choreography in 4-inch heels.

            Rei, the lead actress in the play, trembles with stifled laughter as she leads Fuma to the bleachers. He uses her as human crutches, cutting off her blood circulation as he holds onto her forearms for dear life.

            After he collapses in an undignified heap onto the seats, he vindictively kicks his evil shoes off and spreads his toes once they’re mercifully freed. Rei parts with encouraging words along the lines of “it gets better”.

            Fuma takes a second to savor being able to feel again below his ankles. He fishes out his phone from his bag as his battered feet recuperate.

            There are a string of notifications awaiting him. One catches his eye and immediately stills his scrolling. His thumb has already tapped Kento’s name before his mind can even string together a solitary thought.

            He finds a blurry image overlaid by a play button in the middle. He yanks out his tangled earphones after a brief but intense tug-of-war with his bag then hurriedly plugs them in.

            He watches as Kento fills his screen, framed by a microphone and insulated panels.

            _“Hi there.”_ Kento waves with one hand, his other hand extending past the frame as he records himself. _“Okay, so this is a little weird. I’m refraining from calling you – just. I mean. I didn’t want to disturb you. While you’re creating your new legacy, you know?”_

Kento is so ridiculous. He is so ridiculous and so beautiful, and no amount of pixilation could camouflage that.

Video-Kento flashes him a soft smile. Fuma thinks he’s doing it just to show off how damn gorgeous he is. _“But it’s my duty to make sure you’re not lonely.”_

            “What is this poor man’s loveholic bullshit?” Fuma asks his phone between enamored chuckles.

Flawless face perfectly serious, Video-Kento continues, _“I’m still your partner, no matter what agency you’re in.”_

Fuma’s grin mellows out into a gratified smile. “I know,” he mutters.

Video-Kento tries to maneuver hulking headphones around his phone, but it fumbles out of his grip and clatters to the floor. He grimaces and retrieves it, causing the landscape view to whirl perilously before Kento rights it again. _“Like this, I want you to pretend I’m right beside you. Because in a way, I always am.”_

            Funnily enough, he’s right. He’s always in Fuma’s head. Cheering, nagging, seducing.

            _“Ready to bring the house down?”_ Video-Kento turns his phone around, holding it up to one side of the microphone. It gives Fuma a perspective of standing right next to Kento. _“You can see the music sheets, right?”_ Kento changes the angle, showing pieces of paper that he arranges to minimal effect. _“Here. Is that better?”_

            After Video-Kento pretends to wait for an answer, he turns the camera to show himself nodding before turning it around again. And then, he sings. He sounds as smooth and melodic as ever, honey taking on aural form, a caress to the ears that flows directly into Fuma’s heart. Fuma’s always enjoyed Kento’s voice, for traditional reasons just as much as the less conventional ones. It’s a near-perfect embodiment of the startling power Kento possesses, as well as the encompassing tenderness that somehow coexists with it.

            Fuma listens intently, that he might be able to trace the shape of the melody with his fingers, ride the cadence of Kento’s voice as it soars and swoops.

            Honestly, it’s nowhere near as good as having this voice floating right into the air around him, straight from the source, instead of streamed through microchips and cell towers.

            But it’s okay. It’ll be okay.

            Soon enough, they’ll be together again. Without screens between them, nor other such superfluous things getting in their way.

 

 

***

 

**_Rocky Horror Picture Show LIVE_ ** _@RockyHorrorStageJP · 20m_

_Meet Dr. Frank-N-Furter (played by Kikuchi Fuma). He’s just the right person to make you a man (・ω <) _


	4. Sing along song

痛えね...  
脆くなったみてえだ  
遠くなった？ ちげえな

 

 

            One of Julie’s more prominent assistants, a woman named Azusa, stands before the three members of Sexy Zone in her crisp gray suit and sensible heels. She holds a few pieces of paper to her chest, tapping the short edges on her palm as she regards her visitors one by one. At the end of a breath-suspending pause, she hands over one sheet to each of them.

            Kento’s heart thuds when he flips it over – it’s a screenshot from the official Instagram account for Fuma’s play. The corner of the print-out wrinkles in Kento’s grip.

            “Matsushima-kun,” Azusa says, in a tone that mocks the usage of the honorific she’d used. “This looks familiar to you, yes?”

            “It does,” Sou confirms in a mumble that’s more breath than speech. “It’s from Marius and me.”

            In their hands is a picture of a make-up table with knick-knacks covering the counter and notes pinned to the wall. Among the clutter is a card congratulating Fuma on his new role. One side of it features Sou and Marius’s conspicuous signatures.

            “Personally, I commend you on your gesture. Your hearts are in the right place,” Azusa says, impeccably robotic in her delivery. “That being said, we aren’t able to separate the goodness of your intentions with the ramifications of your actions.”

            As Sou’s eyes glaze over, Kento leaps in with an apology, forehead dipping below shoulder-level. He doesn’t entirely comprehend what they’ve done wrong, though he knows instinctively that this doesn’t make them look good. “It won’t happen again. We won’t be careless next time.”

            “That would be appreciated in our current climate. As it stands, we’re reaching out to Kikuchi-san’s agency to resolve this at once.”

            Kento can almost hear her sarcastic air-quotes around “Kikuchi’s agency”.

            Azusa circles her large desk and sits behind it, elbows dropping to dig into the surface. “And Nakajima-kun, we do not need your promise that this won’t happen again. It’s an insult to your intelligence to expect less from you. Is that understood?”

            “Yes, we understand,” Kento says at the same time Shori lilts, “Sorry, Azusa-san, I just have one question?”

            Kento glances at Shori in his periphery and catches the younger man bowing slightly. “We truly don’t want to inconvenience the agency in the future, nor Kikuchi-kun’s. For our knowledge, can you tell us what sort of conduct is expected of us?”

            Evidently irked by the request for clarification, Azusa crosses her arms over her torso. “What do you think is expected of you, Sato-kun?”

            “I don’t know,” Shori admits, injecting as much deference as he can to appease her. “Sou– Matsushima-kun sent a congratulations card to Kikuchi-kun, a former colleague. A friend. Later on, it gets photographed on Kikuchi-kun’s desk without anyone’s prior knowledge. What would have been the proper course of action in this situation?”

            “Sato-kun. You are working adults. You are in the business of managing your image,” Azusa responds curtly. “Our role does not extend to policing what you do in your own time. Once your actions cannot be contained behind closed doors, that’s the time we ask you to think through the optics. Consider the support you show being construed by others as a tacit endorsement beyond personal reasons – one that goes into a philosophical territory.”

            “Do you mean Kikuchi-kun’s musical?” Kento balks, unable to keep his shock in check.

            “It’s certainly a controversial project. More to the point, lately, Kikuchi-kun has been promoting a stance that many members in the Johnny’s Fan Club Family find to be disturbing. For instance, you may have gotten wind of his involvement in a very provocative and very well-documented rally.”

            True enough, Kento hasn’t overlooked the articles that quote Fuma’s stance on LGBTQ visibility and equality for same-sex couples. He clips them out and saves them, in fact, with vague plans to enlist Marius’s help in putting a scrapbook together for a future gift.

            “So the solution is to keep our continued contact with Kikuchi-kun away from the public eye,” Kento puts it delicately. As if keeping significant fragments of his relationship with Fuma under wraps is a new-fangled concept for him. “Is that correct?”

            “Not publicizing the fact would be less harmful for your group. That is correct.” Azusa again permits silence to drape stiffly over them. “Please understand, no one here stands to benefit from prolonging your hiatus. The sooner you can extricate yourselves from entanglements like these, the sooner we can make arrangements for your group’s return.”

 

***

 

            In the relative sanctuary of the elevator taking them to the lobby, Sou’s chin unglues from his collarbone, and he feels freer to share his feelings. “What was with her holding press activity over our heads? Fuma-kun was barely mentioned. Miyake-kun was in the headlines. I’ll bet a million yen that V6 didn’t hear a word about it from upper management.”

            Slightly hysterical laughter squirms out of Kento. “Is that seriously what you’re angry about?”

            Sou’s response to that is to declare his desire to take a swing at something, anything. He surveys the hall for an inanimate object to beat up.

            Kento turns to Shori this time, in case the younger man has any quick fixes. Shori makes a face like Kento had just asked him to volunteer as a makeshift punching bag.

            “We could go and get a drink,” Shori suggests. “Or some other alternative to inflicting property damage.”

            “It’s too much! Having us act like Fuma-kun is yesterday’s trash.” Sou throws his arms out as if this demonstrated the severity of their situation. “It’s not enough that they refused to address those cases from past. It’s not enough that I have to put my sister in this impossible situation, to forgive me every day for choosing to stay.”

            “Your sister?” Kento echoes, dumbfounded. “What does she need to forgive you for?”

            “Oh, Sou. Was it your sister?” Shori says with solemnity that further bewilders Kento. “That night Fuma-kun told us he was leaving, you were talking about a person who’s close to you. Were you talking about her?”

            “I- I can’t tell you,” Sou stammers. “I’m sorry.”

            “No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry that it—” Shori winces apologetically at Kento, helplessly in the dark about what the two younger members are referring to. “I’m sorry it happened. It’s terrible for it to happen to anyone, but for it to happen to…” He trails off.

            Sou shakes his head, eyes shadowed.

            Try as he might, Kento can’t work out the riddles that Sou and Shori trade back and forth, and it doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to demand some sort of recap. “I’m not sure I understand everything that’s going on,” he acknowledges. “But for the time being, we march on. Even if we don’t like the tune they’re playing for now. It’s the only way for things to work out in the long run. We have to make sure Kikuchi and Marius have something to return to in the end, right?”

            “Right. I haven’t forgotten that,” Sou says. “And I hate my indecision more than you do. But I just can’t turn off that side of my brain reminding me about… people who were hurt. Or what Azusa-san meant by saying we’re better off staying away from Fuma-kun.”

            Sou believes that Kento has no inner demons lurking in the corners of his mind, no dragons to slay in his everlasting quest for answers. Not only is Sou allowed to believe that, he’s regularly tricked into believing that.

            “It bothers me, too,” Kento says. “We can’t avoid that feeling. On the other hand, why let it derail us?”

            “Is it okay to feel lost?” Sou sounds so beaten down that his question feels rhetorical. “Is it okay that I’m not as confident as you?”

            Sou might want to raise the bar a little higher for himself, Kento thinks.

 

***

 

            Fuma misses Kento, Shori, Sou, and Marius. That’s a given. But, all things considered, his new coworkers aren’t awful substitutes.

            There’s Rei, who’s relatively quiet considering their line of work, demeanor bordering on demure. While she’s a bit shy, she holds herself with a self-assuredness that many use several decades of their lives to earn. And there’s Tatsu, who’s more of the outgoing type. It’s unexpected, when his default look is stern and austere – a chronic case of what doctors refer to as resting bitch face.

            The other cast members and crew make for gratifying company, as well. At first, they tiptoe around Fuma’s history with Johnny’s, assuming it to be a taboo subject. The ensemble learns in due course that Fuma has no qualms talking about his career move. These guys hadn’t spent their puberty and early adulthood being heavily censored; they can’t possibly comprehend what it’s like to rip off a lifelong muzzle.

            Fuma indulges their curiosity – up to a point, that is. He’s still bound to a non-disclosure agreement that’ll be in effect long after his grandchildren have buried him.

            “So it’s not like you’re prohibited from dating,” Tatsu says as they put their belongings away at the end of rehearsals. “See, I don’t think the public knows that. It’s always major news when one of you is spotted in the company of the opposite sex.”

            “The problem there is when someone’s spotted,” Fuma says. “We’re supposed to keep it discreet.”

            “I kind of understand where that comes from,” Rei says. “I remember the SMAP drama when the public found about that guy’s girlfriend. That guy, er…”

            “Kimura Takuya?” Fuma provides, chuckling at her irreverent ignorance.

            “Yes,” Rei confirms with a laugh. “That policy is basically for your own safety, isn’t it, considering the kinds of fanbases that might exist.”

            “Sure, our safety’s a collateral bonus.” Fuma glances at phone distractedly before nodding at his cast members and shouldering his bag. “Well, time’s up. Please hold onto your burning questions and save ‘em for tomorrow.”

            “Wait, you’re bailing? What’s the meaning of this?” Tatsu demands.

            Fuma crookedly flashes his teeth, sheepish and apologetic. If he hadn’t found out from Shori that Kento is already back home, Fuma would’ve been first in line to drag his coworkers out and uncover the kinds of revelry that the night hints at.

            Unfortunately, Kento’s perfect failure to acknowledge Fuma’s messages throughout the day takes precedence over all that. Fuma guesses that he’s probably still harboring ill feelings over the other night. Worse yet, Fuma can’t remember what it was exactly that had set them off. It could’ve been anything – maybe an observation about bowls left in the sink, or maybe a suggestion that one of them sold his soul for a bump in fan club numbers.

            Lately, for the most part, they’ve been too exhausted to do more than seek soundless solace in each other’s arms. But sometimes, the fatigue would bleed into the effort it took to function like a decent human being. It led to snipes and snarls on more than one occasion.

            “What’s the rush to get home, then? Have you got someone special waiting for you, after all?” Tatsu reads into Fuma’s restlessness and deduces a little too precisely. “You don’t have to deny it. You’re not in Johnny’s anymore. You’re free to brag about all the sex you’re having.”

            “Know what’s even better than bragging? Privacy.” Which is true insofar as the latter diffuses the risk of Kento’s career getting canceled.

            “You can always invite them along,” Rei offers. “If you’re concerned about Tatsu, we’ll tuck him away in a secluded corner.”

            It’s not the first time Rei used a gender-neutral pronoun referring to Fuma’s possible significant other. There’s a little thrill that comes with not jumping to refute her intentional ambiguity.

            “Yeah, maybe sometime,” Fuma throws out, sounding noncommittal in his haste. He proceeds to the exit before either castmate can push the subject, even as he slightly dreads to find out what kind of reception is waiting for him in his and Kento’s apartment.

 

***

 

            Kento shuts off his speakers with a callous slam, sucking the maddening noise out of the room. He’s supposed to be practicing his song, but he’s listened to it so much that a single note from it rouses bumps along the flesh on his arms. Its lyrics have turned into meaningless garbling, every syncopated beat growing tired with each playback.

            Without the music to activate his nerves, he focuses on scrolling through the Rocky Horror musical’s official Instagram. It’s still work-related, he reasons, as he scans for hazardous photos that he might need to bring to Fuma’s attention.

            Sometimes, Kento likes to plan a hypothetical public SNS account. Not just a one-off exercise that people will see once in a magazine, or a platform catering to invested fans. Kento likes to plot various thoughts or photos he’d subject to a widespread online forum, what types of comments he’d provoke and which ones he’d reply to.

            It’s ironic that Fuma’s in the position to make the most of this privilege now, since he couldn’t be less interested in chronicling his daily life for the internet’s eternal archives.

            Kento’s thumb locks when he gets to the photo that offended management’s sensibilities. The card is the first thing Kento zeroes in on, as well as the signatures on them that show up plain as day. It takes a little longer for him to notice a scrap of paper half-hidden behind a water bottle.

            On Fuma’s desk is a drawing that Kento had sketched on his notebook one day. It’s an image of a bucktoothed woodland creature hovering over the edge of a frozen lake. A seal peeks through a hole in the ice, considering a hulking acorn that his unlikely companion shares with him.

            Fuma never divulged what he’d done with the sketch after he’d stolen it for himself. Really, sometimes it’s almost hilarious how much of a sap Fuma is, underneath it all.

            It warms Kento’s entire torso to see his rushed masterpiece on display, anonymous artwork for unsuspecting strangers to behold. He smiles like he might never be able to stop.

            He stops smiling less than a second later, when he drifts into the comments section.

            Actually, the comments aren’t all scathing. Some are utterly pleasant.

                       _SO excited for this! It’s been too long. Can’t wait to see Fuma-tan!!!_  
_Sou and Marius are too sweet_ _♥_ _Your friendship with SouMari is the best_ _♥_ _♥_ _♥_ _♥_ _♥_  
_Although he was trained by J &A, somehow I think he’ll be perfect for the role._

            The last one’s a bit of a backhanded compliment, but the overall sentiment is nice.

            And on the flip side, there are comments that can only be heard in Satan’s voice.

_Of course this role went to an ex-Johnny’s – those guys are the only ones damaged enough to do this sort of thing_  
_Kikuchi-san, this is a live musical. Autotune can’t save you now~_  
_When you drop out of the #1 agency in the country and you’re desperate enough to play a tr*nny…._

            Oddly, those aren’t even the ones that get to Kento the most. The thought-out comments, ones that weren’t meant to do any harm – those are the ones that end up laying him to waste.

_It’s inspiring that you’re branching out in a way none of your old colleagues are able to. Do your best!_  
_It took guts to leave Johnny’s, and it took guts to take on this role._  
_I hope he slays this performance. He deserves more success than the people in that decaying agency._

__

            It hurts to see the place that he genuinely loves be disparaged by the same people who say they’re on Fuma’s side. It makes a mockery of Kento’s ambitions. As if he’ll never manage to find a path that Fuma would be proud to accompany him on.

            Kento rejects the idea that it’s impossible. But more than a feeling of hopelessness, there’s something else multiplying the effects of gravity, something else that’s making him sink into himself. It feels a lot like loneliness.

            Kento hopes – he begs himself to believe – that the lone culprit behind that is how their schedules rob them of each other’s company. There’s safety in the idea that that’s all he’s up against. He at least _knows_ what that loneliness is about, he’s at least dealt with it before.

 

***

 

            Fuma is greeted with soft humming. It’s less hospitable than a long-limbed body leaping to wind around him, but markedly preferred over projectile picture frames or vases or other weaponized household objects.

            Muscle memory rips Fuma’s voice from his throat, riding the wave of Kento’s melody and finding its designated position in seamless parallel.

            Kento’s head pops up from behind the back of the couch in alarm. Fuma nods to encourage him, catches his eye under the pretense of syncing on rhythm and timing, even though it's common knowledge that they can accomplish the same thing from opposite poles of Tokyo. It’s something neither of them will ever get sick of.

            Their harmony levels off at the same note. “That’s it.” Kento gawks with almost childlike marvel, like it’s slipped his mind that their musical synchronicity often endowed them with casual telepathic ability. “Wait, did you read the sheet music?”

            Oh, right. Fuma had no (official) business knowing Kento’s song before it was released to the public. “I had time. I mean, it wasn’t too long ago when I was trying not to feel like I was a housewife waiting for her husband to get home.”

            “You’re cute.” Kento turns to rest on the back of the couch, dropping his chin on folded hands. “Housewives cook for their husbands, though.”

            “Chauvinist. Marius would be so disappointed.” Fuma makes his way to the couch, crashing on it before Kento has a chance to say he doesn’t want any company.

            As soon as he’s seated, Kento lobs a blithe query about his rehearsals that settles his nerves, and helps Fuma relax further into the cushions.

            Fuma reports on the mostly affirmative progress they’ve made. After some time, he decides to let Kento know what he’s in store for in the not-so-distant future. “You’ll have to dial down the heart-eyes around them if you don’t want to them to figure out about us. They’re suspicious. If you’re not careful, you’ll out yourself on opening night.”

            “It, ah, seems I can’t be around for that. So, problem solved?” Kento tries for a smile.

            “Something already came up?” Fuma braced himself for such a turn of events, but that does little to deter the bite of disappointment.

            “You can say that. Something came up, and so I can’t come watch your play, ever.” Kento’s eyebrows crumble over mournful eyes. “It’s management,” he explains. “They want us to keep our distance for now.”

            “So that’s their goal. Have the world forget that a group called Sexy Zone ever existed.”

            “I don’t know. Anyway, it’s not like you’re in a position to be protective over the group right now.”

            Fuma is barely able to squash a counterattack that’s already formed in his throat, not quick to forget his unanswered messages. “What do you mean by that?”

            Kento shakes his head and covers his whole face with hands. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” he admits as his palms drag his skin on their way back down to his lap. “Forget it.”

            “It sounded like an accusation of sorts,” Fuma observes mildly.

            “It wasn’t. I guess it’s just- I guess I just can’t help but feel like I was abandoned.” Kento rushes out, “And I know you didn’t leave me. I know that. But. It’s hard not to feel like our group wasn’t worth staying for. Like I—”

            “—Don’t finish that,” Fuma interjects. “You know the only thing I left behind are the shadows that _that person_ casted.”

            “But there will always be shadows, won’t there?” Kento reminds him. “Hokuto and Kouchi. Yuma. The 3-2 split.”

            “To me, those aren’t shadows. They helped get us where we are today,” Fuma says. “And you can’t equivocate hardships with passively enabling a rapist.”

            Kento visibly stiffens. “I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe—” He sucks in breath through his teeth. “That’s what you think we’re doing. Me, and Shori and Sou. Everyone. Sakurai-kun. Yamashita-kun. Juri.”

            Fuma sighs in frustration. “I didn’t mean—”

            “I’ll always be some sort of pedophile-apologist to you, won’t I?”

            “Nakajima…”

            “Because I didn’t deal with it the same way as you did.”

            “ _Nakajima_. Do you think I would feel half of what I feel for you if that were the case?” Fuma asserts. “Whatever else we disagree on, I know who you are.”

            Kento doesn’t respond to that. Fuma worries if his words even landed as he watches Kento’s gaze drift farther away. “What if all of this was meant to be a sign that we’re refusing to see?” Kento asks.

            “…What?”

            “A sign that compatibility…” Kento pauses, long enough for Fuma to think he’d completed his thought. But he keeps going. “Can’t be forced on contradicting views.”

            “What the fuck kind of fresh bullshit is that,” Fuma deadpans. “There’s no one out there to be more compatible with. Are you kidding me?”

            “We hardly see each other nowadays,” Kento drones in the same slow, near-dreamlike speech. “When we do, more often than not, we find something to fight about. It’s like that time, back when we were kids. Didn’t you hate how we got to that point?”

            Fuma wants to deny the existence of their past as he strains to untighten his jaw.

            “There’s too much going on,” Kento continues. “Once things settle down, once the pressure of survival is no longer suffocating us, then… I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know.”

            “Right then.” Fuma gulps down the lump in his throat. “I think you’re done for the night, yeah?”

            Kento finally meets Fuma’s eyes, staggeringly expressive. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Even if you don’t want to admit it or you want to ignore it.”

            “They’re called disagreements, Nakajima, they’re not signs of the fucking apocalypse.”

            “They’re worse than disagreements,” Kento negates. “Then you combine that with how we’re being pushed to the brink trying to rebuild our careers. It’s like we’re daring everything to fall apart all at once.”

            Fuma’s heart thrums fit to rupture his eardrums, drowning the thoughts that fly through his head like a vehicle passing a series of countless tunnels at warp speed. “The only thing falling apart is your sleep-deprived brain. So go to bed. Complete a whole REM cycle for once. Then we can talk.”

            Fuma tries to grip Kento’s elbows to pull him up off the couch, but Kento grabs his forearms and locks them in place. Fuma tugs again to no avail – Kento stays put. “Do you really not see how we’re headed in opposite directions? How it’s bound to tear us apart at this rate?”

            “I said that’s enough.” Fuma shakes Kento bodily, as if that would snap the other man out of whatever hypnosis he’d fallen into. “You want me to come back to the agency. That’s what this is about.”

            “No,” Kento says. “If you come back just for our relationship, you’ll come to resent me. So no, I don’t want that.”

            “Yeah, well, news flash. You trying to break up with me or whatever isn’t making me feel all warm and fuzzy, either,” Fuma retorts.

            Kento shuts his mouth, going still save for eyelashes that quiver as he blinks back a building layer of tears.

            “Don’t even try that impenetrable act with me right now,” Fuma says. He himself is close to breaking down. Everything about Kento is too contagious.

            Kento licks his lips and visibly hardens his gaze, does his damnedest not to let a single drop spill from where his sadness has visibly welled.

            Fuma softens in his stead. “Hey. Do me one favor. Can you remember the one truth that won’t ever change? Remember what we talked about that morning in the bath, can you remember that for me right now? Please, do that for me.”

            An awaited response gets usurped by Kento rasping that he’ll get his bag, and then he’ll call his parents and tell them to expect him.

            “Fine, call your mom, then she can tell you what a huge mistake you’d be making.” Fuma says, a bone-chilling fear goading him to lash out. Before he knows it, the terror-born rage turns into bargaining. “I can fix this. Tell me how. Let’s start with what the fuck you need from me to fix this, and we’ll go from there.”

            “For now…” Kento struggles past a sob swallowed halfway. “For now, I need you to step aside and let me get my bag.”

 

***

 

 **_Johnny’s Web_ **  
**_Nakajima Kento_ **

_This butterfly landed right on my hand!_

_Thank you for this miracle._

____

_It was beautiful, but it had somewhere to go right after._

_#butterflies float lightly from flower to flower_  
_#and they never really seem to land_  
_#when the time comes..._  
_#I wonder where they return to_  
_#and when they return..._  
_#I wonder what it takes to make them to stay_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([about those lyrics...](http://astrosaur.tumblr.com/post/173607062954/the-art-of-solving-for-variables))


	5. Fantasy～1秒の奇跡～

君を想う気持ち 消えないよ  
もし 何億光年 離れても  
また何度も 君を探しにいこう

 

 

            There’s debatable comfort in the fact that this isn’t the first time his relationship with Kento has been put on pause. And that’s all this is, by Fuma’s estimation: just a temporary hold. Not that its transience softens the blow by much.

            After his home was brutally hollowed out, Fuma spent a few days holed up in his room. He let calls from his family go to voicemail, marked unopened mails as read when the notifications started to overwhelm. He put on a soundtrack curated by heartbreak and played it on an endless loop, belting out bitter lyrics and drowning out thoughts with atmospheric bass.

            It takes two days of recovery to extricate his body out of bed and into a train bound for his workplace. At that point, staying in his bedroom was akin to martyring himself, thrust in the unbearable freedom of too much space without anyone to help him occupy it.

            Even bereft of trappings belonging to Kento, every molecule in their apartment seems compromised by traces of him. Slippers he’d brazenly claim for his own. The footrest they took turns moving to suit their respective preferences. The beddings that absorbed his shape and his scent, now existing purely as torture devices.

            It’s another five days until he can step into a world not confined by the walls of his apartment or lines in a script. Rei and Tatsu somehow con him into a meandering detour, dragging him away from the poisonous vortex that was his apartment. Keeping to the theme of their musical, they infiltrate a drag show in Shinjuku to do some professional research on the side.

            At first, the newness of the setting startles Fuma out of his funk, as a sensation of discomfort to wriggles through. While he’s secure in his romantic inclinations and what they entail, he doesn’t peg himself as “that kind” of gay. Sure, he’s in love with his unequivocally male partner, and was always an enthusiastic participant in their sexual encounters, to say the least. But he’d always chalked that up to Kento squirming his way into everyone’s radar, regardless of his or her actual orientation.

            As time passes, Fuma becomes desensitized to his admittedly ridiculous qualms about this-or-that expression of gender identity. And when his surroundings fade out of his conscious thought, Fuma tries other diversionary tactics. He thinks back to the director ripping him to shreds earlier that day, rightfully calling out his disengaged efforts. Only he’s unable to brood over the subject for very long, because he gets caught up in the pastel shade on one of the performers’ outfits.

            It’s the exact shade of flowers that Kento first gave him.

            Lilacs.

            They’re following him around, it seems. Rei even brought some to rehearsals that morning, like she knew exactly how to nudge at a sore spot.

            A few years back, Kento had passed them off as a careless, impromptu decision inspired by Fuma’s color image. In spite of Kento’s influence, Fuma hasn’t developed a particular affinity for flowers. But the ones that were passed onto his arms from Kento’s made a compelling appeal to be crowned Fuma’s new favorite color. It’s probably the only color that could’ve come close to unseating the mesmerizing shade that bloomed over Kento’s cheeks as he nervously assessed Fuma’s reaction.

            The remembered image of Kento holding those lilacs kickstart an onslaught of other vaguely related memories. How he couldn’t properly kiss Kento that first time, because both of them were smiling too much. How it was still easily one of the top three kisses they’ve shared. How every kiss thereafter seemed to qualify for that same honor, including the most recent one that ushered the last full night of sleep that Fuma’s gotten.

            In the end, the change of scenery doesn’t prevent Fuma from obsessively cataloguing each milestone in their shared history. And while he’s bursting at the seams with memories, he palpitates with fear that they’re forfeiting the chance to create more of them.

            He slips out of the booth when the anxiety gets the best of him, ducking away from his coworkers’ reach and their interrogations about his sobriety. Along the path where he stumbles and sways, a crowd of men in their 30’s or 40’s assimilate him into their group. Half of them have glitter on their cheekbones and their sparse beards, and they’re ostensibly friendly. Although, under normal circumstances, they’re the kind of bunch he’d be leery leaving Kento alone with.

            His instincts prove themselves worthy when one member of the pack digs out a plastic bag containing a powdery substance. By the time the guys get around to offering a hit to their new acquaintance, Fuma has already started to wonder what it would be like to escape his self-education in masochism. To be released from the grueling cycle of confronting pain by adding on to it.

            Here’s a solution that landed right on his lap. It’s almost too easy. Here’s a promise, that with a single inhale, he can banish the notion plaguing him… the notion that he’s surrendered the right to future joy and returned affection.

            Fuma leans over the table, teetering precariously over it. He focuses on his promised savior, scattered crystalline over a marred surface at a dimly lit bar, until a hand on his shoulder breaks his concentration.

            Suddenly, there’s someone standing behind Fuma – a crew member from the musical that Fuma can’t quite place. The dude’s facial features were replaced with blurred shapes at some point in the night. “Hey, sorry to interrupt. Some of us are heading out.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “Just checking if maybe you’re ready to leave too?”

            “I’m cool. See you tomorrow.” Fuma throws up a hand for a hasty farewell. He knows that inviting the staff can only chip at his chances for blissful oblivion.

            “Also, someone’s trying to reach you.” Out of nowhere, Tatsu materializes too. He brings out Fuma’s phone and shows it to him. Fuma has no clue when he might have parted with his phone, but it’s nice to know that it’s safe and that it’s functioning. “Do you need to answer it?”

            Fuma squints at the screen, discerning if the _Nakajima_ flashing on it is a product of his inebriated imagination.

            They’re on break though, or something to that effect. Kento’s not about to change his mind only a handful of days after moving out of their apartment.

            No, more likely, Kento’s calling to bitch at Fuma. By now, he’s probably heard about how Fuma put some media outlet on blast. They had it coming to them, obviously. They’d used Marius’s picture in an article about Johnny’s accusers, indirectly implying that Marius could’ve been a victim. As if Fuma could let that shit fly.

            While he knows how easy it’d be to prove that his actions were warranted, Fuma’s not in the mood to defend his actions. So he takes his phone back and pockets it, ignoring its continuous vibrations.

            He’s in no shape for a conversation with Kento, of all people. However, the fact that such a thing is on the metaphorical table makes him re-evaluate what’s on the literal table in front of him. All it took was seeing a name on a screen to remind of what he stands to lose with one poorly thought-out decision.

 

***

 

            “Sorry to wake you up.” A man in a dark polo shirt ducks his head through the door, appearing very apologetic indeed. “You’re needed onstage in costume in the next ten minutes.”

             “Got it,” Fuma slurs. “Nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds left.”

            The staff member lets out a slightly panicky laugh and turns on his heel to leave, muttering to himself about what jokes count as funny nowadays.

            Fuma languidly sits up, willing the fog of sleep to clear. This afternoon’s nap seems to be one of those that leaves him more tired upon waking, leaves the world bleary, submerged underwater. Autopilot has him grabbing his designated costume off the rack as he tries to shake the persistent heaviness of insufficient sleep.

            When his phone goes off and he reads the caller’s name, it’s more effective than taking a shot of caffeine intravenously. Despite being considerably more sober, he lets it go to voicemail, just as he did the other day.

            He relishes in conflicted relief when the ringing comes to an end. But of course, like any respite nowadays, it’s fleeting. He’s seized with tension once again when he gets a message reading, _“This is Shori. I’m using Kento-kun’s phone. Please pick up_ ” and oh shit Kento’s in trouble and/or hurt and/or dying and it’d be his fault for listening to his conscience telling him no, Fuma, you can’t cement the doors shut and subvert the physics of Kento’s exit strategy.

            Fuma fumbles to return the call, fingers spazzing with urgency. It rings once before the call is picked up on the other end.

            “Kikuchi? Hi. I’m sorry. I need your help.”

            That conniving bastard. Fuma tells him as much, voicing out his opinion pointblank.

            “I know I’m far from your favorite person right now,” Kento says. “I promise I’ll give you space after this. It’s just- I’ve been struggling with the single. I’m doing it acapella on Music Station, and I can’t work out the backing harmony.”

            It’s only been a little over a week, but having Kento in his ear after a period of deprivation strikes him dumb.

            “I’m really sorry I tricked you into talking to me,” Kento apologizes, after a stretch of silence that likely wore him down. “This has been so frustrating, you know? And the only thing I could think to do was drag you into it.”

            Fuma’s grasp on speech continues to glitch.

            “But that’s obviously not your problem, so… I understand if you want to hang up.”

            Finally, Fuma gets a word out. Exactly one word. “Sing.” It’s not the most suave line he could’ve dropped, but exercising his vocal chords was a significant accomplishment on its own.

            Kento dallies, probably taking a moment to extract below-surface meanings from Fuma’s hard-fought monosyllabic answer. Once he does kick off into his first note, tottery and barely clearing the hurdle of going flat, it expels the inhibitions clogging Fuma’s throat. As if summoned, Fuma’s voice streams out, clear and bold. As their melodies meet and intermingle, Kento builds and lifts until they’re pulling each other up to the summit, never straining for a second.

            “Good?” Fuma asks once they’re done, apparently unable to graduate to multiple-word sentences.

            “Yeah.” Kento clears his throat. “Thank you. Really. I owe you one.”

            Instantaneously, Fuma comes up with far too many ideas on how Kento can make good on that offer. He confines them to the back of his head – none of them are terribly constructive for them in the long run. Instead, he brings up another matter. “Do you know how to take care of lilacs?”

            A beat. “Lilacs?”

            “Rei brought some in for the green room,” Fuma says casually, like seeing her walk in with those triggering flowers hadn’t bulldozed him with an ache potent to the point of nausea. “Of all the flowers, huh?”

            Kento pretends not to understand the reference, even outdoing Fuma on nonchalance as he overtly demonstrates ignorance. “They’re not very hard to maintain. They need some good old water and sun, that’s all.”

            No comment about Fuma’s previous experience caring for lilacs. Nothing about Kento setting a trend in floral gift-giving. Not even a hitch of breath or a tinge of yearning nostalgia. That last one makes Fuma step back. Try as he might, Kento has never been able to completely conceal his emotions from Fuma. Kento’s acting couldn’t have evolved this much, could it? It’s not like Kento could have legitimately forgotten the distinction held by those lavender blossoms. Right?

            Fuma swallows past a thick, cloying blockage. “I’ll let her know that. It’ll mean a lot to keep those lilacs alive for a long time.” And back to speaking in codes.

            “I’m sure she’ll do her best.” Again, Kento delivers with mellow candor, unweighted by meanings hidden between lines. While Fuma evaluates the merits of either ending the call or confronting the subject head-on, Kento turns up the innocence for his next question. “Hey, Kikuchi? What do you want to happen, after all this?”

            “What do I want?” Fuma repeats. He hadn’t expected Kento to turn around and grant him a perfect opportunity for sheer, brutal honesty. What does Fuma want?

            “I don’t think we ever talked about that at length.”

            _What do I want?_ _I want to feel your eyelashes on my cheeks._ Fuma mentally encourages himself. He tells himself that honesty is attainable. He can do honesty. “Aside from retiring with millions of yen to my name?” The struggle is real.

            “Aside from that.” Fuma can hear the smile in Kento’s response.

            _I want to smell your hairline right after catching you backstage._ “I don’t know. I can’t think of one thing specifically.”

            “Really? Not one?”

            _I want to see you._ “Well, how do I know I’m not on speaker right now? Turn on your video chat.”

            Everything inside Fuma pounds like tiny living wrecking balls as he waits for Kento’s answer.

            All the anticipation whooshes out of him when all he gets is a speculative, “Are you near a window?”

            “Yeah. Why?”

            “I’m in my balcony. Well, my parents’ balcony.” Kento laughs self-consciously. “It’s a nice night for stargazing. It almost doesn’t look like Tokyo.”

            “You know, saying ‘no’ to the video chat would’ve been simpler.” Disgruntled, Fuma walks over to his window anyway. “Either you look like shit at the moment, or you don’t want me to see you crying because you miss me so much. Which one is it?”

            “It’s a seriously nice view, you know. I don’t think you’d want to miss it…”

            “Alright, I got it. I heard you the first time.” Trapping his phone between his ear and his shoulder, Fuma cracks the window open and fights for space to slip his upper body out from under it.

            “There’s one that really stands out. Is that Polaris? Or maybe a planet,” Kento murmurs like he’s passing a secret along. “Can you see it?”

            Fuma desperately hopes that he’s found the right one. “Yeah.”

            “You swear you’re looking?”

            “I told you I am.” Fuma can’t help the indignation in his voice. “I see it. It’s the one that sticks out.” Besides the slight annoyance that Kento knows him well enough to audit claims of cooperation, he’s feeling a bit lighter than he has in days. It’s strangely reassuring that, while they’re still missing from each other’s vicinities, they’re staring out in the same direction, sharing one and the same view in front of them.

            Not for the first time, Kento then vocalizes Fuma’s thoughts, pulls them right out of his head and carefully lifts it for the wind to carry. “It’s mysterious, isn’t it? The world is so vast, and yet we can be looking at the exact same thing from far apart.”

            “Think we’ll catch any shooting stars?”

            The year they got back together after taking a break, Kento had said he’d go to Fuma like a meteor shower. See, Fuma can do this all night – he can play back his entire history with Kento, even if he has to reminisce one-sidedly.

            “I don’t know,” Kento responds. Short. Safe. Stubborn.

            Please. Fuma taught him everything he knows about stubbornness. “Keep your hands open. A shooting star might come and it’ll need a place to land.”

            There it is.

            Fuma hears it: a hitch in the breath.

            Audible proof Fuma is breaking through to him.

            There’s more measured breathing on Kento’s end, and then he whispers that it’s late. “You probably want to rest now, don’t you? I’m sorry to keep you up.”

 

***

 

            “You’re throwing those away?!”

            Rei startles, clearly not expecting such violent vehemence so early in the morning, especially not from Fuma. “These? No, they’re still beautiful.” She cradles her bouquet lovingly to her chest, and Fuma feels it on a spiritual level. “I’m giving them to Kozue, the lady who owns that coffee shop down the block. She’s been taking night classes and her final exam's tonight. It’s a small thing, but I thought it’d be a nice way to let know we’re cheering her on.”

            “Oh. Cool. Yeah, tell her to go kick some ass then.”

            “Will do.” Rei laughs as she speed-walks past him.

            It takes a long while until other members of the cast and crew trickle in. Some of them simply have to comment on Fuma’s punctuality.

            With sleep rigidly declining his nightly invitations, Fuma got an hour ahead of his routine on a whim and made his way to the theater at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM. If not for this morning’s freakish change of pace – that outlier of an impulse – he wouldn’t have to put up with these jokers and their half-wit jabs at his attendance records.

            Then again, he also would have missed Rei carrying those lilacs out. Fuma’s in a rather… delicate state, and he doesn’t know how he might’ve reacted to their sudden disappearance – those symbols attached with a universe’s weight in meanings.

            It’s astonishing to think about. That, if he’d been just one second late, he’d have missed the chance at one last glimpse of those lilacs.

            That kind of sums up the collection of fortunes and misfortunes in Fuma’s existence. In anyone’s existence, really. Life’s a series of chances that are ours to stumble upon. To miss out on, or to extract every last promise from.

            If Fuma had entered Johnny’s on another year, or another week, or another day, Kento might not have come up to him on that one fateful day, unknowingly sealing their partnership.

            If Kento hadn’t called when he did the other night, it might have been the first step down a spiral of irreparable damage.

            The fact is, Fuma did get a timely call from Kento which would detain a reckless, half-baked impulse. Fuma did go to rehearsals on that April day, and he did meet the person who would change his life by embedding himself in it. Fuma did catch a final glimpse of those lilacs, lilacs that remind him why his hurt and resentment can’t outlive the feelings that took root on that April day.

            Putting it altogether like that, the pattern is evident. Each step was orchestrated, syncopated to each tick of the clock, to bring them into each other’s lives.

            It’s up to them to enact the universe’s will. They may be idiots at times, but they’re not dumb enough to go around discarding perfect offerings from the cosmos.

            Fuma’s objective is clearer than ever. He has to make the musical a must-see show. Everyone and their dog, and their mother, and their mother’s dog will fill these seats.

            Johnny’s & Associates can and will reform itself as an entity worthy of their loyalty. After Fuma proves to them that they need to keep up with the times, he can make his return, and Marius could come along with him. They’ll revive Sexy Zone as it should be.

            Fuma resolves to do whatever it takes. He’s ready to cause a ruckus that can’t be sidelined. He’s ready to get on hands and knees, ready to scrape the floor with his forehead.

            One way or another, he’ll take his rightful spot once again. The spot that he and Kento and the universe carved out together.

_Step one: Pave the way._

 

***

 

**Kikuchi Fuma** @puripuri95 · 1m  
Back then, you said to me, “I won’t stop with wishes.” Guess what. Neither will I. ☆彡 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [song notes](http://astrosaur.tumblr.com/post/173607062954/the-art-of-solving-for-variables)!


	6. 忘れられない花

声になりそうもない good bye  
ひっそりと誓うのが精一杯  
忘れないと忘れなくちゃ君を

 

 

            On the eve of Fuma’s opening night, Kento forfeits the hours meant for sleep in order to consult search engines about which presents you can give your ex. Not that Kento thinks of Fuma as an ex, but he was hard-pressed to come up with keywords that aligned with their current status.

            Kento’s mission lasts until the crack of dawn as he scours flower delivery websites, planning a bouquet he knows he shouldn’t send. His eyes, dried out from staying open for too long, suddenly slicken with vengeance when he comes across an arrangement doused in pinks and purples.

            Lilacs.

            No, lilacs are out of the question. Kento nixes anything that comes with heavy-handed messages, despite assurance that Fuma would sooner mutilate himself than bother with anything as cheesy as flower language. That means no two-toned carnations ( _I cannot be with you_ ) or purple hyacinths ( _please forgive me_ ). Kento settles on the far more innocuous daffodils and goldenrods. _New beginnings. Encouragement_. So platonic he doesn’t recognize himself in it.

            Kento wonders if he should send something to Fuma’s co-stars, too, in case that makes Fuma’s flowers more permissible. Except he hits a dead-end end when, in his encyclopedic floral knowledge, Kento can’t quite translate the sentiment of “if you so much as _think_ of laying a hand on him offstage…”

            So he goes back to second-guessing Fuma’s bouquet of generic optimism, questioning its merits. The last thing he wants is to give Fuma false hope if he hasn’t changed his mind about what's best for them. But he also can’t bear the thought that this impasse will stick for good, that their bond could be usurped by a solitary hurdle.

            Yes, it’s kind of a big deal if your other half believes that your moral compass is broken. At the same time, what Kento and Fuma have is kind of a big deal, too.

            That much is obvious in how Kento’s memory is mercilessly astute where Fuma is concerned. There was no need for blatant reminders like Fuma bringing up lilacs out of the blue. The other day, Kento was paralyzed with incompetence when a choreographer had asked him to sit on the floor with him. He could not, for the life of him, bid his body to sit cross-legged, for the simple reason that it fills his head with images of Fuma. He’s always been unreasonably enamored by Fuma’s distinctive attempts at this stance, his bony knees elevated preposterously above the floor due to inflexibility. It might be a minor detail to most people, but it’s one of those perfectly-Fuma quirks that Kento is fond of.

            Long story short, Kento can’t take a seat without ushering in debilitating emotional trauma. What more if he were to reminisce about lilacs?

            Freaking lilacs.

            The very same flowers that were accessories to a clumsy confession. _First love,_ Kento admitted through flower language. Then he said it through his lips, releasing stammering (but unequivocal) words before closing in for a blundering (but well-aimed) kiss.

            When he was on the phone with Fuma, Kento had to act as if the ghost of that moment hadn’t come to dominate his train of thought, dressed in excruciating detail. He had to impersonate a man that wasn’t mourning over a bombardment of flashbacks. ( _Clumps of chemically lightened hair slipping from the edge of Fuma’s tan cap_ , _plastic and paper and stems wrinkling in his tense grip_ , _teeth clacking against his as giggling breaths mingle; mingle and finally,_ finally _merge . . ._ )

 

***

 

            For his part, Fuma seems to be trying his damnedest to be as unhelpful as possible. Although bringing up lilacs got him a lukewarm response from Kento, he seems undeterred. He’d moved on to sending Kento mail on a daily basis. Under less complicated circumstances, Kento might have snarked at him for not acquiring communication skills while they were actually—or rather, _actively_ dating.

            Fuma rarely sends him a surplus of two sentences. For the most part, his messages revolve around the Tsum Tsum game, having apparently gotten addicted to it as of late. He beseeches assistance from Kento, cheekily cashing in on the latter’s pledge to send those hearts ad infinitum.

            Day in and day out, Fuma demands conversion on that promise. “ _Hey, Nakajima, you forgot to send me a heart today._ ”

 

***

 

            “The Juniors are concerned about you.”

            Kento’s back, already taut from self-inflicted abuses, snaps into stiff alignment. He glances around and finds his most admired senior standing over him. The same one that’s tasked to head up the Juniors and is thus in the position to lodge a complaint on their behalf. “Really? I haven’t done or said anything to trouble them, have I?”

            “No, Kento. You’ve been your usual professional self. No one would think to accuse you of the contrary.” Higashiyama’s carefully balanced smile smoothens into a somber look. “The heart of the matter is that these kids can’t fathom the notion that a man like you could get tired or overwhelmed.”

            Cold dread shoots through Kento’s veins upon hearing that physical manifestations of exhaustion have colonized his face. He’s self-aware enough that his vanity doesn’t surprise him.

            And Higashiyama, who’s no stranger to the responsibilities of fulfilling societal standards of beauty, sympathizes. “Not to imply that your looks are deteriorating.”

            “That doesn’t bother me.” Kento figures he’s allowed a white lie every now and then. “It’s nice that they care. I wish I could do something to keep them from fretting like that, though.”

            “That’s the burden one bears when held in high esteem.” Higashiyama claps his shoulder. “Tell you what. I won’t add to your guilt. I trust that you can take care of yourself.”

            “I do. I take care of myself.” The white lies keep coming.

            Higashiyama nods. “Good. And I trust that you’re in touch with your group in spite of the circumstances. Kikuchi and Marius included.”

            An eon of hesitation passes before Kento answers. “Yes.”

            “Good,” Higashiyama repeats without commenting on Kento’s leery response time, humoring the younger man to move their conversation along. “I like to hear that you guys are leaning on one another, as you should.”

            Kento’s just glad that Higashiyama doesn’t know about him and Fuma, as it spares him from potentially having to report an update on that front. Kento has only vocally admitted the current status of their relationship precisely once – during dinner with his mother. After she forcibly extracted the raw truth from him. He never would have imagined that uttering less than five words could feel like hacking a scythe up and out of his chest via his throat.

            At least Higashiyama can’t put him through that ordeal.

            Of course, redacted intel wouldn’t preclude the inkling that the Kento-and-Fuma combination is permanently followed by an asterisk. Literally everyone is aware of that asterisk, even if only a fraction know of the corresponding footnote.

            “I’m going to ask a question that I expect you to refuse if it’s overstepping,” Higashiyama starts, setting Kento’s nerves afire with a disclaimer. “Has Kikuchi budged on his decision? I understand the reasons that he gave you, but Johnny-san is no longer with us, after all…”

            Kento shakes his head. “That’s not the point to Kikuchi. Not until the company faces repercussions.”

            “I see.” Higashiyama goes silent for a moment. His vision for Johnny’s lies in the opposite direction of what Kento described. He can’t wish for an outcome that might jeopardize the future of the budding careers that he’s partially accountable for.

            “It’s not about comeuppance. He doesn’t want Johnny’s to fail,” Kento says in Fuma’s defense. “He’s looking for an admission of guilt, I think. In his mind, there’s a way to go about it without endangering everyone’s careers.”

            When Higashiyama speaks again, it’s hoarse. “I prayed it wasn’t true. I prayed desperately for it.”

            That he could sound so embittered, so battle-weary, throws Kento for a loop. Higashiyama has been in Johnny’s longer than Kento – a full lifetime longer. And yet they appear equally terrorized by the scarcity of alternatives.

            “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Higashiyama-san,” Kento asserts.

            Higashiyama studies him for a second. “Will you be seeing the other four any time soon?”

            Kento blinks. “I haven’t made plans for the week. I’m taking it one day at a time.”

            “Well, if you see them, I’d like you to consider sharing something with them.”

            “Absolutely.”

            Higashiyama proceeds with utmost care. “We’re always told to keep walking forward, but there’s also value in taking a step back. There’s value in stopping to ask, ‘Noriyuki, is this the life you want?’ Every step is precious when you know the road runs out one day.”

            Kento keeps his emotions in check as they start to slither up and choke him. He normally wouldn’t abide by acknowledgement of mortality, not unless it’s encased in poetic metaphors and/or delivered by a person in command of his respect and admiration. He vows then and there to Higashiyama that he’ll pass the message, definitely.

            Assuaged, Higashiyama nods. “So, Kento? Is the life you want?”

            “I’m headed there. Down the line, I…” Kento hesitates. Superstition muzzles him, taunts him with future failure on the condition of getting exposed. “I’d like to have what you have. You and guys like Inohara-kun, I mean.”

            “I understand. And is this road you want to take to get there?”

            Kento didn’t expect such a pointed follow-up. He finds himself at a loss for quick-witted answers that tend to visit him in hordes. In their place, even more questions.

            Can he have what he really wants?

            Can he have what he wants with his co-workers? His friends. His team. Does he try to recreate Sexy Zone or paint over it completely? Strip away the old instead of simply layering on a fresh coat?

            Can he have what he wants with his… His ex…….. Ex-coworker.

            His best friend. His partner. His _person_.

            Can they reconcile the asymmetry of their resolutions? If not, can they reconcile anyway?

            Higashiyama breaks through the endless formation of queries. “Take your time. Don’t even give me your answer if you don’t wish to.” He eyes the door, signaling his impending exit. “Either way, I think we need to catch up a bit more. I have to check that the rest of NHK Hall hasn’t been set on fire, but we’ll set something up later this week. Sound good?”

            “Yes, definitely! If it’s no trouble.”

            “Later this week, then.” Higashiyama takes a couple of steps towards the exit before turning on the balls of his feet. “Kento, whatever happens, my number won’t change. I’ll always pick up. Do you understand?”

            Kento has no clue where that came from. He likes the hint of optimism though, so he doesn’t question it.

 

***

 

            Kento watches the bustling crowd outside the window before he glances at his phone again and sees that Higashiyama hasn’t contacted him yet. He fiddles with some apps for lack of something better to do, until he hears a piercing cry shape into his name. It’s a name he shares with good chunk of the population, so it’s not until two other words barge in afterwards that his attention is ensnared in full.

            In the very next second, a miniature force hurtles to his shin and drapes over his knee. The flying object identifies itself as a little girl that jovially displays each of her pebbly teeth. She alternately chants “Sexy Zone!” and “Kento!” on a loop, until an adult version of her bursts into the scene, panting out his exertion.

            “I am so sorry, she got away from me.” The little girl’s father bows, hands holding onto the back of his knees in supplication. He attempts to yank his daughter off of Kento, but it’s as if her bones were suddenly replaced with steel. “Micchan, let’s go! Now!”

            The happy bounce of Micchan’s pigtails undermine his authority as she bobs her head from side-to-side. “I love Sexy Zone! I will always, always love Sexy Zone!”

            Kento bites his inner cheek, struggling to keep his cool. He bargains with his body not ruin this moment for this girl by breaking down into tears in the corner of a gloomy restaurant.

            “—Especially Shori-kun!”

            The unintentional blow to Kento’s ego successfully evicts his sentimentality. It makes room for petulant mental interrogation along the lines of, “so I’m ‘Kento’ and he’s ‘Shori-kun’??”

            Micchan barrels on, not permitting Kento’s trampled pride a second of recovery. “I like Kento, and Sou, and Fuma and Marius, too!”

            Hearing the other members’ names similarly thrown about soothes the earlier sting of playing second-class citizen to their National Treasure-faced center. “Are you rooting for all five of us?”

            “Yes, all five! Shori-kun said to.” Micchan leaves no room for argument that whatever comes out of Shori must be treated as celestial decree.

            “Mirai, show Kento-kun that you can behave,” Micchan’s dad says. “Kento-kun and Shori-kun like good girls. And good girls listen to their—”

            “I’ll be a fan no matter what,” Micchan chirps, deaf to her father’s pleas.

            “You don’t know how thankful I am to hear that,” Kento tells her. Then, he addresses her father. “Sir, please rest assured, you’ve raised a fine young lady. Her only fault is stealing too many hearts.”

            Micchan blinks uncomprehendingly while her dad backs away and regards Kento with noticeable foreboding. Okay, maybe they’re the wrong demographic for Kento’s usual repertoire.

            Kento rebounds from the tepid reception, exaggerating his confidence until reality catches up to his will. “Micchan, would you let me repay your kind words? I can’t take a picture with you, but can I write you a note?”

            Micchan squeals and turns to her dad, acknowledging him at long last. “Papa! Papa, get my notebook!”

            “Papa, get my notebook, _please_.” The father rummages through a glossy Sanrio backpack anyway, muttering under his breath, “After this is done, we leave Kento-kun and stop bothering him, do you hear me?” (She doesn’t, busily waving her arm to orchestrate the speed with which he should retrieve her belongings.)

            Simultaneously apologetic and begrudging, Micchan’s dad hands Kento a little notebook covered by anthropomorphized flowers that beam up at him.

            Kento winces, rips it open so that the more innocuous blank page is all that confronts him. After he scrawls declarations of genuine fondness into the paper, he shuts the notebook without glancing at it, locking eyes with Micchan.

            Still, glimpses of that notebook cover slice into view as the girl and her father wave their farewells.

            Freaking. Lilacs.

            He deals with the confetti-weight flurries of cheer that wage war with sinking heaviness, up until he finally receives a message from Higashiyama.

            “ _Kento, I’m sorry. Something has come up and I won’t be able to meet you. Please forgive me for the late notice_.”

            Kento’s disappointment is hastily ousted by panic when a second message arrives: “ _The good news is, an old friend of yours is free and wants to see you. He says he’ll be joining you soon._ ”

            Kento reads those words over and over amidst a brewing cardiac arrest. An old friend who wants to see him. Why the withheld identity? Surely, that couldn’t mean—?!

            “Kenty!”

            Oh.

            Kento deflates upon seeing Marius with Shori and Sou half a step behind him. His conscience promptly attacks that treasonous initial reaction. He’s thrilled to see them, of course. It’s just that… Well, never mind that.

            Fortunately, Marius is oblivious to Kento’s guilt and latches onto his shoulders for a floppy embrace. “I’ve missed you! Have you missed me?”

            Kento strokes Marius’s forearms, petting the snake-coil grip. “Not always. Only every second you’re not around.”

            Sou clutches at his shirtfront. “My heart skipped five beats just now! Take it easy on us, we’re not used to you and your words anymore.”

            Kento taps the tip of Sou’s chin. “That means I need to give you a double dose each time we meet.”

            Marius estimates that he’s due for a triple dose as he takes a seat next to Kento, Shori and Sou across from them.

            “I’m sorry we’re not Higashi-san,” Shori says.

            Kento glances off to the side. “He’s really impressive. He stood me up then made up for it by dragging not one, but three of you in here in such short notice.”

            “Yes. Very short notice,” Shori agrees in lagging monotone. Kento’s right eyebrow gives that a deserving quirk.

            Shori strategically takes the chance to launch into a story about the wrap party for his drama filming, prompting machine-gun interrogation from Sou and tangentially-related stories from Marius’s university life. It inevitably leads to Shori and Marius bickering over whose story is being told, as Sou’s insistent appeals for useless supplementary information are left hanging.

            Kento takes it in. He trades it with the lifeless environment from minutes ago, and it fits around him like a glove. A long-time favorite, long-lost glove.

            It’s a good feeling.

            It forces him to remind himself of the reasons to cling to status quo. However, unlike previous turns of this exercise, this time, a husky voice worms in with further considerations.

            There’s lessons to consider. ( _Since when was self-development exclusive to Johnny’s? Try again._ )

            Exposure. ( _Really, Nakajima?_ You _need more exposure?_ )

            Prestige. ( _These days, is that a given?_ _Just last week, how many articles did you come across asking whether the agency operates with bare minimum decency?_ )

            His colleagues. ( _You really suck at trusting other people. Your most beloved senior went out of his way to profess his unconditional support. The Juniors, they’ve got their own strength to rely on. And the staff, they encouraged me and Marius from the get-go._ )

            His fans. ( _The last one you met literally just promised that she'd be with us no matter what. Don’t start doubting our fans now. I won’t have you looking down on them._ )

            Variables abound, as countless as stars hiding in pockets of the sky. Competing and feeding off of each other.

            Kento then remembers the promise he made to Higashiyama to tell the others about taking a step back, and now seems as good a time as any to turn inward with that advice. Take a step back. Ask if the road in front of him is owed to someone else. If there are rightful claims to his tomorrows.

            When Kento opens his mouth, a question assembles itself and glides out like it had no time to bother with self-awareness. “What would you think if I seriously considered resigning from the agency?” Kento pales like he’d posed the question to himself as much as to his companions.

            Marius’s hand comes up to cover a gasp. “Kento-kun.”

            “I’m not saying I am!” Kento rushes to add.

            “It’s alright to think about it. We wouldn’t support Fuma-kun only to turn around and get mad at you for doing the same thing.” Shori’s surgical removal of every sarcastic intonation is masterful.

            “There’s nothing wrong with talking about it,” Sou similarly determines. “And you could consult with Fuma-kun, too. Ask him how he came to his decision.”

            Kento feels his upper body wilt. The last thing he wants to do is to bring these three up to speed about him and Fuma.

            Sou continues, “It shouldn’t matter that you’re living apart for now. You can meet up, right?”

            “…You know about what happened?” Kento surveys the sympathetic faces blockading him.

            “In a way.” Shori winces. “Fuma-kun gives it away in bits and pieces. I’m not sure he even realizes that he’s doing it.”

            “He says stuff like, ‘oh, great, Nakajima probably brought it with him to his parents’ house’, or like, ‘Nakajima will come to his senses sooner or later’,” Sou elaborates.

            Shori bursts into a telling peal of laughter as Marius jumps and points at Sou. “That last one! I get the last one a lot.”

            “Every single time,” Shori agrees. “That has to mean he’s banking on Kento-kun moving back in.”

            Or he’s anticipating the moment that he gets to reject me in turn, Kento thinks. “All I know is, the last time we talked, I had to trick him into accepting my call.”

            “Well, we’re not exaggerating – he will not shut up about you.”

            Shori’s assertion rolls out the red carpet for Fuma’s daily solicitation. Unaware of its supplementary audience, Fuma’s message boldly demands _“Where’s my heart, Nakajima?”_ on Kento’s phone, where it lays on the table for everyone to see.

            “He’s playing the Tsum Tsum game, that’s all,” Kento explains before the rest of Sou and Marius’s squealing punctures his eardrums.

            It’s as if Fuma hears his dismissal, because today of all days, he follows it up with a second message: “ _I’m not taking it back from you. Just reminding you to keep an eye on to it_.”

            Kento chokes. “THIS IS BAD, WHAT DO I SAY.”

            “Did you just ask us for help with flirting?” Shori’s round eyes nearly leap from their sockets, emanating sparkles of delight. “Who are you and what have you done with my Nakajima Kento?”

            “Since when was he ‘your’ Nakajima Kento?” Sou demands.

            “That’s so cute, you’re this worked up over a message!” Marius coos, and that’s the coup de grace to Kento’s pride.

            “Alright, enough. I’ll deal with that later.” Kento parks his phone facedown in temporary denial. Heart palpitations aren’t conducive to the decision-making process. “Back to the topic of hypothetical resignation. Or, frankly, hypothetical career suicide.”

            “That doesn’t sound like our Nakajima Kento, either,” Shori comments.

            “I’m not completely removed from reality,” Kento claims. “Even I can’t overlook the kind of odds we’d be giving ourselves if we went along with Fuma’s vision. We aren’t exactly breaking world records right now, what more if we didn’t have the backing from Johnny’s?”

            “We can’t make predictions either way,” Marius points out.

            “And Marius! What would that mean for you? We wouldn’t want to derail you from your education.”

            “You and Fuma-kun graduated while working at the same time! Why wouldn’t I manage the same thing? Besides, I’ll have homework help.” Marius glances at Shori and Sou. “From Fuma-kun and Kento-kun, obviously.”

            “Not like I was offering or anything,” Sou snorts as Shori informs Marius that he isn’t being compensated enough to double-duty as his tutor, anyway.

            “You know what this reminds me of?” Marius proceeds over Shori and Sou’s protestations. “This reading we were assigned about SpaceX. It’s this company that invents rocket and stuff.” Here, Marius pauses to click his tongue at Shori who’s repeating his phraseology mockingly. “They do! Anyway, people basically kept telling the CEO that he was wasting his time trying to do the impossible. Nobody took him or the company seriously. They couldn’t imagine a private company doing what SpaceX wanted to do, let alone one as young as SpaceX.”

            “Okay, and are we going to get to how this is related to what we were talking about just now?” Kento wonders.

            “Yes, don’t interrupt. Please.” Marius tacks on politeness as a clear afterthought. “So then, for a few years, SpaceX kept messing up. As in billions of dollars invested into huge failures. But even then, the CEO didn’t give up and go back to his other, more successful projects. He kept going at it amidst the doubt and the ridicule. Until one day, they successfully landed the first rocket-type thing safely on a barge… type thing. After all that, they managed it! It was the first of its kind, or something like that.”

            “‘Something like that.’”  It’s Sou’s turn to echo Marius’s narration. “A ‘rocket-type thing’ on a ‘barge-type thing’.”

            “What are you doing with your hiatus? Take your studies seriously!” Kento chides with a chuckle.

            “I am!” Marius pouts. “Anyway, wait! I’m not done. This is the best part – the name of the ship!”

            Against his better judgment, Kento indulges Marius. “What was it called?”

            Marius bares his teeth for a shit-eating grin that has Kento bracing himself. “OCISLY. ‘Of course I still love you.’”

            Marius gets up without another word, trailed by a thick smog of self-satisfaction. Whatever zen air he’s going for is sabotaged when Sou bounds after him, badgering him for a Japanese translation.

 

***

 

**_Johnny’s Web  
Sato Shori_ **

_As Sou-kun and Kento-kun mentioned, there’s important news we want to share. The news might take you by surprise, so the three of us have been working hard on making these to go along with your letters!_

_By the way, these flowers are called “violets”, but the ones we’re sending you are actually blue and white in color. Did you know that the color changes their meaning?_

_Blue violets mean “I’ll always be true.”  
White violets mean “Let's take a chance on happiness.”_

_Cool, right?_

_As expected of Kenty! (LOL)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [song notes, as always!](http://astrosaur.tumblr.com/post/173607062954/the-art-of-solving-for-variables)


	7. O.N.E.～Our New Era～

俺たちが創る時代  
Any day... Any day... いつの日か  
Hey！ What！ What！ Bring it on！  
足宛(もが)き 叫び 吠えるんだ  
届くまでやめる気はない

 

 

            This must be what Kento went through that first time Fuma showed up unannounced to watch his solo concert: like a tsunami swallowed him whole then hauled him up to shore, shaking and blurry-eyed.

            Fuma’s last correspondence with them had been an unintentional attempt to blow up Shori’s inbox, prying for hints on where Kento’s head is at without asking for the truth outright. Not that Fuma’s restrained interrogation made a huge difference, judging by Shori’s last words to him. (“Who are you and what have you done to my Kikuchi Fuma?”)

            And now they’re here. Four overly vivid faces not designed to blend in with an audience. (Count them: four.) Their conspicuous presence is not confined to Fuma’s estimation, either. In fact, a crew member has to take to the PA and remind the crowd that cell phones must be powered off during the performance and that no photography is allowed in the theater. In hindsight, the picture that they made – the four of them sitting together watching this production – might’ve been a bit too extravagant.

            Fuma gets through both acts of the musical half-aware of the movements and sounds he produces, having to adlib half of his lines which mysteriously took leave of his memory. By the time he’s bowing and waving to a standing ovation, he still hasn’t decided whether he’s still in his own body or if it’s being hauled into position by a remote puppeteer.

            Later backstage, the first glimpse of a flower arrangement next to his make-up table wallops each of his senses, bringing them back to life in dramatic fashion. A glittering sash congratulates him on his performance, trailing blooms in a shade that he’d worn predominantly in his last job. There’s one type of flower dwarfing the others with its sheer quantity.

            Freaking. Lilacs.

            Before he has time to adjust to his abruptly sharpened surroundings, Sou and Marius flank him, a two-piece orchestra blending consecutive gushing about everything from his voice to his stockings.

            In the one or two seconds not occupied by their enthusiastic praise, another review is volunteered. “You were amazing,” Kento says. It’s delivered quietly, considering the source, but it cuts through the rest of the noise. Like Fuma’s ears were designed to pick out that sound in spite of what may try to eclipse it.

            “Thanks.” Their gazes meet and lock, eyes working as anchors to pin down what’s in front of them.

            A handful of words from the other three sail aimlessly through the crossfire of their mutual stare. An inscrutable amount of time passes before Fuma vaguely hears muttering of, “So I take it Fuma-kun found out about Kento-kun’s arranged marriage, then.”

            Fuma’s neck whips over to Shori’s direction. “What?”

            “Oh thank goodness.” Shori places a hand over his chest, affecting relief. “Sorry, just testing if you can hear us.”

            Fuma is stuck pre-glare, at a loss for a satisfying reaction because Shori’s supposed to reserve that attitude for the younger members. “Oh, you want my attention? Then why don’t you tell me what the hell you three are prepping fans for on J-Web.”

            “Did you join the fan club?” Sou wonders, awed.

            “Did you use your sister’s account?” Shori guesses.

            “What makes you think you can interrogate me before answering my question first?!” Fuma retorts.

            Both Shori and Sou turn to Kento, who nods at them in return. It takes consecutive silences until Shori finally speaks. “We’re resigning at the end of the year.”

            Fuma is stunned, even though he’d suspected similar news. “Is it final? Do they already have your letters?” he asks first, though there are at least twenty other things he’s more concerned about.

            “For now, we’re discussing it with Julie-san and the team,” Kento says. “The details aren’t set in stone, but they’re aware it’s coming.”

            Fuma nods and makes a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from Kento, lest they get pulled into another untimely reciprocal hypnosis.

            “We’ve talked to our families, too,” Sou adds. “And we’re going to let the staff and the other guys know before the FC mail gets out.”

            “This is really happening, then. You aren’t thinking of backing out?” Fuma can’t control his gaze from flitting right back Kento’s way.

            “The temptation to back out never really goes away, honestly.” Kento laughs sheepishly. Fuma envisions himself throwing caution to the wind and gathering that misplaced smile back into his arms. “Everyone I’ve talked to about this has scared the shit out of me, and for the most part, they were trying to be encouraging about it. It’s not going to be easy.” He takes a deep breath. “Which is why we need to do it as a team. With our combined strength.”

            Fuma’s conscience buckles under the fear that Kento might feel coerced into taking this path, toiling under the impression that he has no other choice. “This isn’t the only option. You know that, right?”

            Kento makes a sound resembling agreement, thoroughly placid. “In any case, there’s no precedent of an ex-Johnny’s that left and managed to return. At least, not from debuted groups.”

            “It could happen, though. We could be the first to do it,” Marius says. “With our charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.”

            Shori groans as Sou cackles at Marius’s obsessive referencing of that show. “Also, there’s the fact that ‘Sexy Zone’ might not be able to exist outside Johnny’s,” Shori keeps them on topic. “At least not by name. From our first few talks, the copyright battle looks… less than advantageous?”

            “That’s true,” Kento acknowledges. “Basically, it’ll take a miracle to get rights to our songs once we leave the agency. Even the ones we wrote.”

            “None of this will be worth it if we don’t get rights to _Bye Bye Dubai_.” Fuma frowns as the others chuckle. “And what about the variety shows?” As much as Fuma takes pains to address the entire room, it’s mostly a question for Kento, with his regular appearances up for sacrifice.

            At this point, Marius is fed up playing third wheel. He clears his throat and “reminds” Shori and Sou that a stagehand is waiting to give them the backstage tour that she promised. Sou grapples to recall receiving such an invitation while Shori and Marius pointedly “jog his memory” and tow him away with them.

            Fuma snorts at their transparent motives. He sobers as he notices Kento rubbing his left elbow with his right hand. “Those contracts stay intact until the year is up,” Kento says eventually. “After that, it’s up in the air.”

            “I see.” Fuma decides he owes himself a kick later on for such an epically dull response. “Add it to the list.”

            Kento snickers. “Yeah.” Then he chews bottom his lip, and it’s all that Fuma can stand.

            “I’ve been wearing torture chambers on my feet for the last three hours while you’ve been sitting on your ass. Come over here.”

            Kento doesn’t need to be told twice. He makes his way over to Fuma, patently nervous without losing the trademark composure in his glide. He slinks forward and keeps at it until he looks like he might dip in for a kiss.

            Fuma’s body is certainly convinced, heart trudging along more-or-less per usual in one minute, and pounding painfully in the next. He holds his breath when Kento reaches out to squish his face, damp palms pressing Fuma’s cheeks and making his lips jut out in a fishlike fashion.

            “Are you planning on doing this for much longer?” Fuma hopes to ask. His comprehensibility is impeded by Kento’s peculiar facial groping.

            Kento lets go eventually, but instead of backing out of Fuma’s personal space, he steps further into it and envelops him in a tight hug. One of his hands has Fuma’s shoulder in an insistent grip, while the other slips into Fuma’s hair, still flattened from his wig.

            Fuma’s heart is now pounding so hard he has no doubt that Kento can feel it against his chest. He figures he’s been caught anyway, so he lifts his hands around Kento’s back and wraps around him in kind.

            The moment Fuma’s hands make contact, Kento pushes the back of Fuma’s head, smothering him into the crook of his neck as he plants his own face onto Fuma’s shoulder. They stay in each other’s arms for what feels like hours, but realistically must only be a few minutes. Their only movements are Kento adjusting his grip as if he isn’t holding on tightly enough, and Fuma’s fingers tracing patterns on Kento’s bicep, a ghost of a caress.

            Kento peels himself away with herculean effort, although he doesn’t make it very far. He still has one arm slung around Fuma’s shoulder, as his other hand slides down to hold on to Fuma’s forearm.

            He breaks their silence. “I didn’t do this just for us, okay? I don’t want you thinking you forced me into this – that’s not how I see it.” He pauses. “And it’s not like I expect you to automatically take me back after what I did.”

            Kento is such an idiot.

            Then again, so is Fuma. Because instead of calling out Kento’s abjectly imbecilic premise right off the bat, he asks if Kento liked the play.

            “You were brilliant. You were really amazing,” Kento returns without hesitation.

            Fuma laughs self-consciously, embarrassed by Kento’s sincerity. “Not what I asked, but I’ll take it.”

            “I couldn’t pay much attention to anything else.” Kento admits, forgetting to feel shame over the fact. “And those seduction scenes were very realistic – which actually means that I’m not decided on whether I loved them or hated them.”

            Fuma chuckles again. “I could run them by you again and help you decide.”

            Kento’s eyes widen to fit wonder with a brittle sheen of optimism. “Really?”

            “As a thank you for the flowers.” Fuma looks towards the standing bouquet, then back to Kento. “They’re from you, aren’t they?”

            “They’re from the four of us.” Kento releases a breath that sounds like he’d been collecting it for the last several months. “I’ll tell you one thing. They wanted to buy roses – I insisted on lilacs.”

            “Good choice, Nakajima. Thorns are a pain in the ass.” Fuma grins. “That settles it. I owe you a repeat performance… After you go to your parents’ place.”

            “Hmm?” Kento cocks his head in confusion.

            “Don’t ‘hmm’ me. I’m not helping you pack your shit, you did that on your own the first time. So do what you need to do, then come find me so we can figure out how you really feel about those scenes.” Fuma leans in, not pulling back until he can inhale Kento’s next sigh upon its release. “Something tells me you’ll be able concentrate better when you’re back home.”

            “Fuma…”

            Fuma passes his thumbs over Kento’s lips. Hearing his name in his partner’s voice is almost devastating so soon after their reunion. Sadly, it’s neither the time or place to claim the kiss he’s been deprived of for far too long. To tide them over, he drops a gentler version on Kento’s temple, one so tender it sounds like a teardrop on the other’s skin.

            When Kento’s misting eyes crinkle at the sides, Fuma’s touch wanders over the buttery skin on Kento’s cheeks, traces the laughter lines he loves so much. Fuma loves the idea that he’s partly at fault for them, that he’s made a tangible imprint on Kento.

            The list of things still up in the air keeps growing, but so long as they have the privilege of holding this truth in their hands, everything else is of little concern.

 

***

 

            _Step two: Round up the troops._

 

***

 

            One striking change in the apartment demands Kento’s attention first: a white vase sitting on the coffee table, holding clusters of purple petals. They’re not the lilacs that they set up in Fuma’s dressing room – they’re heliotropes.

            As soon as Kento translates the vision in front of him, every gust of wind deserts his body. Could Fuma possibly understand what that means? Could he have understood this whole time?

            Lilacs mean first love. That’s what Kento meant to communicate when he chose those flowers.

            Heliotropes symbolize something else.

            “There’s no point in speaking a language that only one person understands, Nakajima,” Fuma tells him.

            As they put Kento’s luggage away, Fuma throws out a casual warning that Kento’s closet space will be cut in half should he attempt to pull the same stunt in the future.

            “I’m sorry,” Kento says. “I think… honestly, I think was at my limit. I missed you so much. I missed Sexy Zone. I drove myself mad with it, just the nonstop worrying and regretting.”

            “I told you we should’ve talked about this, didn’t I?” Fuma tries, but his concern is too immense to hide behind an I-told-you-so.

            Kento drops his head momentarily then shakes his head. “I convinced myself I was alone in everything. In my dreams, in my convictions. In everything.”

            Fuma glowers, upset by Kento's horded pain, but doesn’t interrupt.

            “It was the lowest I’ve ever let myself feel,” Kento realizes as he recalls his state of mind in those moments. “It weakened me. It made me feel like we couldn’t work through our differences.”

            “Do you feel stronger now?”

            “I’ll never be weak enough to think like that again.” Kento’s jaw is sharp, set. “We’re in this together. The five of us. And I’ll send you those hearts until cell phones become obsolete. I’ll more than make up for the days I missed out on.”

            “Since you mentioned making up for things, I could use a little healing.” Fuma clears his throat. “A trip, perhaps.”

            “A trip?” Kento repeats, intrigued, and relieved that the clouds on Fuma’s face are starting to clear. “Shall I whisk you away someplace?”

            “I was thinking more along the lines of you telling my grandma face-to-face why I won’t let her set me up with her friend’s cute grandson.”

            Kento laughs. “Okay. I can go stake my claim. Is her friend’s grandson cute for real?”

            Fuma raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m saving threesomes for your thirtieth birthday.”

            “What, I’m not— Oh, we’re holding off on it ‘til then?”

            “Threesomes are not on the table until 2024.” Fuma’s dangerous glare seamlessly slots into a leer. “Unless they learn how to clone humans before then, since I’m sure you’d love to have two of me at your disposal.”

            “I have no idea what you’re implying.” Kento hopes the heat rushing to his cheeks doesn’t give him away. He cuts Fuma off when the other starts to open his mouth, “I don’t need you explaining the gutter meanderings of your mind, either.”

            “Nice try, but I can see where you’re going with this.” Fuma squeezes the hand that has since since sneaked into his.

            “I’m trying to hold your hand,” Kento insists, affronted.

            Fuma smirks as Kento’s other hand starts to toy with the edge of his shirt, teasing the skin underneath. He draws closer, nose scraping Kento’s cheek, acting on the adrenalin from the restored permission to do so.  “That’s not where my hand is.”

            “I can stop any time,” Kento warns.

            “Nah, I don’t think you can. Which is okay, ‘cause you really shouldn’t.” Fuma cups Kento’s face in his hands and joins their lips together with a nearly delicate pressure. No more than a brush of lips here, a soft press there. “Hi,” he murmurs between flitting pecks.

            Kento smiles into it. “Hi back.”

            But it’s been too long since they’ve touched each other, and the smallest taste of a remembered sensation makes them anxious for more. Almost in an instant, the kiss goes from languid to emphatic. Soon, it has Kento shivering at the dirtiness of it, at how wide Fuma pries his mouth open.

            Kento squeezes Fuma’s forearms when he notices the younger man attempting to guide them to their bedroom. He makes his intentions clear when he leads Fuma to the couch, prodding him to take a seat as they get Fuma’s jeans and underwear past his hips, working in tandem like they’re following choreography.

            Kento drops to his knees between Fuma’s legs, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his hands up those spread thighs, savoring the feel of Fuma’s skin and the sight of the flush right underneath it. Kento is overwhelmed by the sheer elation of realizing that he hasn’t lost this privilege for good.

            “Can you maybe not space out at this moment,” Fuma berates him. His eyes are dark with arousal, but also searching, trying to read what’s going on in Kento’s mind. “Stop fantasizing about having two of me and focus on the one you’ve got right now.”

            Despite himself, Kento bursts into laughter. “I won’t lie, I can see the benefits in cloning you.”

            Fuma waggles his eyebrows and Kento makes him gasp in the middle of it when he sinks his teeth into Fuma’s upper thigh, tongue flicking out and flattening to soothe the light sting.

            “Shit, you really are worked up by the idea,” Fuma says, barely above a whisper. He’s silenced when Kento glances up at him through his bangs and reaches one hand underneath his shirt, seeking out his nipple. He sits up and ducks under the shirt to replace the pads of his fingers with his lips, wrangling a moan from Fuma when he opens his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.

            Kento feels Fuma’s hardness prod against his sternum as he appreciates the younger man’s chest. Fuma places his knuckles on Kento’s shoulder, subtly prodding him downwards while also brushing his fingers over the side of Kento’s face.

            “Shows you who’s worked up.” Kento muffles his own words by keeping his lips attached to Fuma’s skin, not caring that they go unheard. He moves on to the taut skin below Fuma’s bellybutton, and he wants to echo the sound Fuma makes when he makes his gradual, open-mouthed glide along its path.

            “It’s alright, I get it. It is hot, two of me at once,” Fuma croaks out. “I could fuck you while you’re fucking me. I’d grind into you and make you fuck the other me harder.”

            Kento’s restraint gives up on him once he’s given that mental image, and he wastes no more time as he reaches down to take Fuma in his hand and into his mouth. He slides his lips down until he feels his throat protest, and looks up to meet Fuma’s dilated eyes from underneath his fringe.

            Fuma’s hips thrust up against his will, because there’s no way he’ll ever get used to how good Kento looks, on top of how good he feels. “Shit. Or— _ah_ , I’d— I’d fill your mouth as the other me takes you. We’d go deep at the same time. Just how you like it.”

            Kento grabs onto Fuma’s knees, sitting on his heels and arching his back like there’s really someone coming up behind him. Fuma can’t hold back a few more errant snaps into the quickening glide of cherry lips, can’t keep his trembling fingers from twining in Kento’s hair and scraping his scalp. The heat and the musk and the scorching gaze lead one of Kento’s hands to slip down his own body, down to where he’s trying to rub against the material of his jeans out of desperation, until the other catches him in the act.

            “Don’t get off yet,” Fuma gasps, barely comprehensible between his groaning and lip-biting. “Not fair.”

            Kento whines around Fuma’s dick, making the other cry out for a completely different reason. He obediently brings his hands back up and focuses his attention on Fuma. He plants near-ticklish kisses over and around Fuma's shaft, and when he slips Fuma back into his mouth, both of them moan. Fuma thrashes recklessly now as Kento bobs, and he jerks before he can get a warning out. Kento swallows him down, and as harsh as it tastes, he can’t seem to get enough it.

            “Shit,” Fuma mutters again, even as his hips continue to stutter into Kento’s warmth through the aftershocks. He pets the tumult of hair that had been pulled and wrung. “Sorry. I—”

            Kento peels off of him, fingers brushing his lip line before he sits down next to Fuma, shamelessly kicking off his bottoms. “Fuma, please. I’ll finish if you breathe on me at this point,” he admits shakily.

            After Fuma gets up and settles himself between Kento’s knees, he grabs Kento’s base and, despite the warning, takes the time to run his tongue along the length of Kento’s shaft. Kento groans as his legs come up to plant his heels on the couch. Fuma takes full advantage of the access granted to him, both hands snaking up behind Kento’s thighs to lock him in place while he kneads the head with his full lips.

            Kento moans again when those lips open for him, fingers digging into the edges of the couch. As usual, it doesn’t take long for the visual of him sliding into Fuma’s mouth to get him overheated, never mind the unrelenting suction around his cock. It’s too much when Fuma wanders over his inner thighs and fondles his balls, and he’s fighting with his own sounds of pleasure to tell Fuma that he’s close.

            Fuma pulls back to take Kento in one hand, stroking him while keeping the tip pressed to his lips. Kento’s eyes shut tightly as he finds his release under Fuma’s ministrations, heels digging down to chase Fuma’s touch. When he opens his eyes, his body spasms like it wants to get aroused again, intrigued by the sight of his orgasm streaked over Fuma’s cheek and jaw.

            Fuma grins as Kento takes in the sight of him. “Knew you missed that.” He supposes it’s only fair that Kento gets to make tangible imprints on him, too.

 

***

 

            It’s almost normal, aside from their recent tendency to conspicuously seek each other out. Losing each other in multiple forms is still too fresh a memory, and neither is eager to tone down their reclaimed right to affection so soon. And the truth is, they hadn’t noticed anything awry until Marius complained that he couldn’t get either of them alone nowadays.

            Fuma gives him serious side-eye for that. “Why do you want to get me or Nakajima alone so badly?”

            “He’s saying you’re hardly apart recently,” Sou explains.

            “It’s not a bad thing. I’m glad you made up,” Marius clarifies. “Kento-kun had half-moons under his eyes and Fuma-kun couldn’t hold a conversation without going off on an unrelated rant.”

            “You might be overcompensating right now, but we’re glad you’re back to normal.” Shori’s pursed lips do a little wriggle. “Kind of.”

            He’s being sassy, but it’s a fair assessment. Kento and Fuma are back to kind-of-normal.

            It wasn’t too bothersome to be called out on their newfound clinginess. Kento and Fuma know it’ll go away on its own, and they can brush off their younger members’ teasing, for now.

            They get down to business meanderingly, straying every now and then without an externally enforced structure. They’re strapped in by the time they get around to discussing how to independently fund a reunion concert. Clashing starts when Kento commits to shouldering a sizeable chunk of their estimated costs and Fuma promises they’ll pay him back once they’re back in the game. Kento gets indignant, and Fuma doesn’t bother pulling him aside to argue. He insists that it’s important for the five of them to be equal parts of their rebuilding, that it wasn’t about who was the eldest or who made the most money.

            As the clock approaches dinner time, they review the progress they’ve made on their agenda. They turn back to the whiteboard that enumerated their priority actions. The top of the list remains unblemished in a sea of scribbles.

            Their name.

            Marius was on the fence about keeping it. His reservations are not without merit – they’ve gotten a lot of slack over it and how it fanned the flames of their previous company’s pedophile scandals. Even before the swell of bad press, their group name had been more of a hindrance than a boon.

            “We could make try a name that references our old one,” Sou thinks out loud. “Like, XYZ... five,” he finishes his thought uncertainly.

            Fuma gives a look of distaste in return. “What is that supposed to be, an unfinished license plate?”

            They play around with a few more suggestions. Anything plus “new” stinks of imitating SMAP. Numbers are also a no-go, since it’s hard enough without blending in with the 46/48 girls.

            “I got it!” Marius exclaims, eyes a-sparkle. “Foxy Zone.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and once he opens his mouth to elaborate, Fuma shuts him down. (“Congratulations, you found the only name worse than ‘Sexy Zone’”, which earns him a reprimanding arm swat from Kento.)

            “Listen! We get to keep the XYZ—”

            “Moving on!”

            “—and Shori’s our center, so ‘fox’ fits—”

            “Finally, you bring up a good point. Since we’re starting all over again, who’s to say Shori stays as the center?”

            “I think Shori should stay as our center,” Sou votes without even letting Fuma finish. “Unless it’s a dance-heavy number, then—”

            Shori turns to Sou. “Wait, what are you trying to say about my dancing?”

            “More importantly, if the center is up for grabs, wouldn’t I be the ideal candidate?” Marius cuts in.

            “Are you sure you got the meaning of the word ‘ideal’? Does anyone have a German-Japanese dictionary for this guy?”

            “Stop it, I know it means! Think about our symmetry. With me at the center, we’d be like a cake with three tiers. We’d have FumaKen on one tier, then Shori and Sou-chan on another.”

            “Wait, guys.” Kento catches everyone’s eye in turn, waiting until he has their attention. Marius settles down to loop his arm through Kento’s. “Didn’t we say we were going to fight for our name back? Along with our songs?”

            “Our name isn’t perfect,” Fuma says, making Kento turn to his direction. “But it’s _our_ dumb, imperfect name.”

            “Yeah,” Marius agrees. Sou echoes him as Shori grins, while Kento denies Fuma’s chosen description.

            “That means we do what it takes to get it back,” Fuma concludes, his stare loaded and fixed on Kento.

            It’s reciprocated the same way. “We won’t stop at wishes?” Kento asks.

            “No way.” Fuma grins. “We’ve got time. You heard the heliotropes.”

            Sou switches his glance from one to the other. “You’re not following this either, right?” He checks with Shori and Marius.

            Marius sighs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think it’s supposed to make sense to those of us who don’t reside in FumaKen world.”

            Shori shrugs. “Like I said, back to normal.”

 

***

 **Johnny’s Web**  
**ARASHI**

 _So much love and gratitude to our amazing fans who came to today’s live!_  
_Even after the concert, we want to keep enjoying these coming days with you._  
_**X** OXO, Ohno Satoshi, Sakurai Sho, Aiba Masaki, Ninomiya Kazunari, Matsumoto Jun._  
_**Y** ou might be wondering about five other names we haven’t mentioned yet. . ._  
  
_Zero chance that you overlooked today’s special guests, after all._  
_Of course, we won’t forget to thank our special back-dancers for today:_  
_Nakajima Kento, Kikuchi Fuma, Sato Shori, Matushima Sou, Marius Yo._  
_Everyone, please support these guys, too!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [what heliotropes mean](https://www.google.com/search?ei=K3piW4T4OaX-jwSw1r7IDg&q=heliotrope+eternal+love) ...it's too cheesy to type directly XD


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